


Not One For Chocolate Anymore, I See

by GalaxyThreads



Series: M&M Paradise [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anxiety, Avengers Family, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Consequences, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Ignoring the end of endgame, Loki & Peter Parker Friendship, Matt is WORSE, May is a terrible parent, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Panic Attacks, Parent Tony Stark, Parent-Child Relationship, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Avengers, Protective Tony Stark, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, media sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 47,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22522114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyThreads/pseuds/GalaxyThreads
Summary: In the wake of the abuse that Peter endured, Tony takes up the terms of guardianship to the teen. And he doesn't care what the media or May has to say about it. Peter is Tony's son. That's that. If only Peter understood that fact as seamlessly. (AKA: 5+ times Peter denied he was Tony's son, and the one time that he claimed himself as a Stark) (No slash, no smut)[Companion Piece to "Vertigo"]
Relationships: Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: M&M Paradise [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620529
Comments: 164
Kudos: 1572
Collections: Abused Peter Parker





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> By popular request, and also the fact that I didn't reach what I wanted to in Vertigo, here we are. :) (Consequences guys, I wanted to see consequences, but didn't quite make it there.)
> 
> You DO NOT have to have read Vertigo in order to understand this story, but it would help. If you're like "meh", just know that May didn't fade in the Snap and met and married Matt, who was a jerk to Peter. Details are discussed in the story, so, you'll be good. ;)
> 
> Summary: In the wake of the abuse that Peter endured, Tony takes up the terms of guardianship to the teen. And he doesn't care what the media or May has to say about it. Peter is Tony's son. That's that. If only Peter understood that fact as seamlessly. (AKA: 5+ times Peter denied he was Tony's son, and the one time that he claimed himself as a Stark)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing!
> 
> Warnings: Child abuse, child neglect, suicidal thoughts, potential self harm, depressive thoughts, anxiety, PTSD, some injury, and hurt without comfort. This story is kind of heavy, so just take care of yourselves, okay? I want everyone to be safe. No slash, no smut, no non-con, no incest. Language is all K.
> 
> Pairings: Pepper/Tony, May/Matt
> 
> /**WARNING: I USUALLY PORTRAY MAY IN A GOOD LIGHT. THIS IS NOT THE CASE.\\\
> 
> For your information, this story is cross-posted on Fanfiction.Net under the penname of "LodestarJumper"
> 
> Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)
> 
> ***Final Note: This deals with some heavy topics. I really want everyone to be as safe as possible. And if you are experiencing a situation similar to Peter's, know I am sincerely sorry. Please, to whatever end it comes to, take care of yourself. You are worth it. You are worth everything.

* * *

_"Told you not to worry,_

_But maybe that's a lie,_

_...The world's a little blurry,_

_Or maybe that's my eyes."_

-Billie Eilish; "ilomilo"

* * *

The Walmart looks like something from a horror movie. Its sign is flickering on the last "a", and the entire outside looks like it hasn't been cleaned since the beginning of the 2000's. There are few cars parked, but Tony's guessing that it's only the miserable employees dragged out on this ungodly hour of Christmas morning rather than any actual customers.

His lips thin and he blows out a breath, trying to decide if he should park and go inside, or see if he can find Peter in the parking lot. He doesn't _really_ think that Peter will have been stupid enough to remain out in the cold, but it's a fifty-fifty.

"You reading any heat signatures out here, FRI?" he questions, slowing down the car and taking his hands off the steering wheel for a moment to breathe into them. It's fourteen degrees, but feels like below zero. He should have put on a warmer coat. What he has on is not enough to endure this. At least—thanks to Pepper—he remembered gloves. He's terrible at winter weather dressing.

"I'm reading one on the sidewalk, Boss." FRIDAY answers after a moment, "But it's weak."

Tony's frown deepens. "You think it's the kid?"

"Almost positive."

So he is outside. Tony is disappointed, but he didn't really expect anything more. "Idiot." He chides quietly, but his heart does a patter of frantic worry. _Fourteen degrees,_ it reminds him pointedly _._ He asks the AI for directions to the heat signature and rolls the car in that direction, making sure that the headlights are flipped up high enough. It's not snowing yet, but it's still dark. And despite this being New York, there isn't an abundance of lights in this area.

But not having to stroll into the Walmart and announce his presence, if inadvertently, is welcomed. But still. It's cold, and Peter should have prioritized warmth over...whatever it is he's doing. If he's being honest with himself, he can't say he's too surprised. The kid didn't sound good when he called less than an hour ago.

He'd sounded so frantic, yet...broken.

It unsettled Tony more than he wants to admit.

It only takes a minute or so to find him, stumbling across the sidewalk with a thin jacket on, hood pulled up over his head. Tony feels relief settle into his stomach at the familiar gait. He could probably pick the kid out of a busy crowd from how well he knows it now. Tony presses on the break, slowing the car, and unlocks the doors before rolling down the passenger seat window.

Peter looks towards him. His face is red with cold, but white near his eyes like a strange pair of glasses. His lips are so red they look tinted blue, and Tony is suddenly very aware that he's looking at—in the very least—a minor case of hypothermia. The kid will be lucky if it's not full-out frostbite. Peter sways slightly, listing to his left side in a way that Tony doesn't think he notices, but makes him fear for a moment that Peter is going to collapse.

He doesn't.

His gaze settles on Tony's face and lingers there, something desperate in his features. Tony releases a heavy breath, "Hey." And then, just because he's never been very good at beating around the bush—he really prefers to light it on fire and back away from the aftermath—he states blankly, "You look terrible. Get in."

Peter moves as if pulled by strings and reaches for the handle with his right hand only to hiss when it makes contact and pull away sharply. He snaps his right arm against his chest as if the slightest jostle will injure it permanently, and awkwardly reaches out with his left hand instead. He makes the movement seem so unnatural that it's impossible to miss.

Something happened to his arm.

Peter clambers into the car and shivers, yanking the door shut and wrapping his arms around himself as best he can. Tony then comes to the realization that Peter is not dressed for the weather at all. He's in socks, loose sweatpants, and the shirt he's wearing is a faded _Star Wars_ branded T-shirt. The jacket seems to have been an afterthought, but it's patchy in some places.

Tony knows that the Parker's have struggled with money since he met Peter for the first time, but he hadn't really realized what effect that would have until now. Peter's never brought it up, and in the midst of things...he forgot. He assumed that with Matt there to support May and both of them working jobs that the issues would have been resolved.

Apparently not.

Tony rolls up the window to prevent any more cold air from seeping in and watches Peter shiver from the corner of his eye. He's doing full body trembles, and Tony is grateful that he had the sense to grab a blanket. The extra coat was Pepper's idea, but he doesn't really care about the source. It's _here_ and Peter needs it.

He doesn't realize he's drumming his fingers against the wheel in his agitation until Peter's brown eyes lift from the floor of the car to the steering wheel. He stops. "Seatbelt." He says pointedly. Peter awkwardly tucks his right arm against his stomach and buckles up with his left hand. Tony doesn't think that he's even trying to cover up for the wound now.

"Cold?" Peter nods absently, still saying nothing. His eyes are wet and Tony suspects that if he talks he'll start crying, and if there is one thing that Tony has learned about Peter it's that he views tears as emotional weakness. Tony withholds a sigh. "I have a blanket in the back. I also brought a spare coat." Peter immediately turns and reaches out towards the back, grabbing the blanket. He sweeps it across his shoulders and pulls his legs up against his stomach so he can bury his entire body beneath the fleece. Tony's lip quirks with amusement, but he hides it by the time that Peter looks up.

He's still hiding his arm.

"What's wrong with your hand?" Tony tries to keep his voice soft, but Peter still flinches and his eyes squeeze shut. His mouth opens like he wants to answer, but is only rewarded with a squeaking gasp.

Tony recognizes this as the beginnings of a panic attack.

He reaches out and rests a hand on the kid's shoulder, murmuring words of comfort until Peter's breathing has steadied from hiccuped gasps of panic to something a little deeper. He rocks once, twice, and then his head lifts from his cocoon to stare at Tony and he whispers, "I fell down the stairs."

Tony feels his expression flicker.

Peter is... _sticky._ He doesn't just _fall down the stairs._ The kid has a better sense of balance than Clint, and Tony has seen the archer perform moves that seem impossible on a tightrope. He blames the circus for Clint's ability to defy gravity, and the archer always smirks a little and shrugs saying "a magician never reveals their secrets."

Unimportant. _Focus, Tony_. Stairs. Peter doesn't…

"Did you fall or were you pushed?" Tony asks carefully. Peter's lower lip trembles, and a shiver wracks his frame again. Tony knows the answer now, and feels something hot coil in his chest, but he _needs_ to hear Peter say something else. "Peter." He says firmly.

It's the use of his name that does it.

Peter seems to just...crumple. He opens his mouth and a fragmented, half-coherent story comes bubbling out. Tony becomes aware of one thing the more Peter talks: the kid is not going back to M&M's. Not unless it's over Tony's dead, cold body.

000o000

Instacare smells about as awful as Tony remembers. Why do doctor-y places always have that _smell?_ It's like a thick antiseptic, wrapped in a plastic and old fabric. His nose wrinkles despite himself and he bites back an open gag. Beside him, Peter doesn't so much as flinch. Strange, given his enhanced senses. Tony's lips press together.

Kid must be really out of it.

Tony tightens his grip on Peter's shoulder for a moment, trying to ground him, but it doesn't seem to do much. Peter follows after him like a herded animal, lethargic.

The woman behind the desk looks up at him behind wide-rimmed glasses. She's wearing thick makeup that includes some of the longest fake-eyelashes Tony has ever seen to date. Pepper has never been fond of them, and Nat only wears them when undercover.

Focus.

Letting go of Peter's shoulder so he can face the blonde, Tony releases the inside of his cheek and smiles as best he can. The expression is tight across his face, refusing to settle properly. "Hi."

"Hi." The woman says with considerably less enthusiasm. She lifts an eyebrow before shifting her gaze to Peter. "Are you here to check in?"

No, they've come to collect all her pens illegally. What _else_ does she think they're at the counter for?

"Yes." He answers, voice clipped. She hums, opening something on her computer screen. The mouse clicks, scraping against the desk and Tony sees Peter's expression tighten from the corner of his eye.

Maybe he should have just taken the kid back to the Tower immediately where the only medical aide they'd have to deal with is Bruce, and maybe a few of the other Avengers if they were unlucky. They have medical levels there, but—Tony already talked himself out of this. Peter needs help _now._ His enhanced healing gives a short window in which minimal pain can be achieved.

The instacare building was closer than the Tower by half an hour.

"Name?" the woman questions. How does she sound so _bored?_

"Peter Parker," Tony's patience with her is slipping. This is for Peter, he reminds himself. Peter doesn't need him to yell at someone, he needs a doctor and a bed. Probably a meal, too. He looks cadaverous.

"Birthday?"

"August 27th, 2002." Tony answers shortly. Peter's gaze has lifted away from the white desk to stare at the tiled ceiling. It's an obvious distraction tactic, but somehow manages to make him look younger than he is.

There's a pause where the blonde glances pointedly at Peter before asking, "Is he a Blip victim?"

Tony flinches, words falling flat. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

"Yes." Peter answers, the question seeming to draw him away from whatever alcove he was hiding beneath in his head. His brown eyes are narrowed, "I am. I'm sixteen."

The blonde's eyebrows lift slightly as if in defense, but she says nothing, fingernails clicking against the keys of the computer screen. "Alright," she mutters and then turns to Tony. "Is Mr. Parker your son?"

_What?_

Tony's eyebrows shoot up. He recovers himself quickly, opening his mouth to give the affirmative, but Peter shakes his head rapidly, looking slightly sick as he takes a step forward. "No. He's not. He's my…"

The words hurt more than Tony thought they would, but he brushes it off. It's not his place to say. Not really. If Peter doesn't want to get into the mess that will become of this if Tony admits his identity, he's going to need to tone this down. He can't be some random passerby if Tony knows his birthday and name. But it's past four AM, so Tony can't be his boss, either.

"Teacher." The word tastes a little funny, and a bit too frantic. He adds, as smoothly as he can, "We came up to New York because we're on tour. Choir. You know. Peter likes to sing."

He nearly slaps his forehead.

_Brilliant._

"Okay," the blonde taps something out on the computer. "And your name, Mr…"

"Barton." Tony says without thinking. "James Barton."

"What's the school you teach at, Mr. Barton?"

 _Shoot._ He frantically runs through a list of high schools that he knows of, but just as quickly they've vanished. Honestly, he doesn't really know of any beyond the local ones in Manhattan and Midtown. It hasn't been important, so he hasn't paid attention. He releases his cheek and decides to just go along completely with the fibbing.

"South Parkway, California. Is there anything else you need to know? We're kind of on a short time frame here. Singing. Singing to reach." Why is he so _bad_ at this? He's normally a much better liar, but when it comes to Peter...he can't...

The blonde looks like she's trying very hard not to roll her eyes. "What are the injuries that you want the doctor to look at? And how were they sustained?"

"I fell down the stairs," Peter mutters, clutching his right arm closer to his body. "I need him to look at my arm. Everything else is just bruises."

_Liar._

The blonde nods a few more times, tapping on the keyboard and asking a few more questions before telling them to go sit in the waiting room until the doctor can see to them. Tony releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, resting his hand on Peter's shoulder again to guide him towards the stiff, uncomfortable chairs.

The kid slumps into one without a word, sighing heavily. He tips his head back, staring up at the ceiling.

Tony takes the chair next to him, folding his arms across his chest and doing his best not to scowl into the far wall. He needs to keep himself together long enough for Peter to be taken care of, and then he can let himself feel angry. Then he can lose control. But not in front of Peter. Not now.

They don't talk as they wait, and it takes the better part of twenty minutes—despite the fact that the waiting room is empty—before a nurse comes for them. She looks tired and washed out, but still manages a small smile at seeing them. As she begins to slip, she slides from half-undead to perky.

He follows wordlessly down the halls as the nurse asks questions and performs a basic check-up on Peter. With that settled, she guides them to a room and assures that "Dr. Bills will be with you shortly" before leaving. If shortly is another twenty minute wait, Tony might sue. He came here to get his kid help, not to wait around for long enough that they could have gotten to the Tower by now.

"I feel kind of sick." Peter admits to the silence. It's the first words he's said to Tony directly since the car.

Tony glances at him. "Sick how?"

Peter gestures vaguely to his stomach. "Here."

"Puke-sick?" Tony clarifies.

"No." Peter shakes his head. "Just...sick."

 _Probably just anxiety, then._ Tony frowns, but hums quietly to acknowledge that he heard. He wars with himself on whether or not to say something funny before deciding it would be better than this silence. He locates the trash bin and stands up, grabs it, and then settles it down in front of Peter's feet. "Here. Consider it my Christmas gift to you."

It's not. Tony has something else he was planning on giving. _Is_ still planning on giving. When they finally get out of this wretched building.

Peter's lips split into a ghost of a smile. "Thoughtful. Thanks."

"Only the best for you." Tony assures. Peter glances up at him for a moment and then frowns. Tony bites on his inner cheek and mentally kicks himself. He said something. What did he say? Peter _was_ smiling before he ruined it.

He parts his lips to ask a question but at that moment there's a knock on the door and a doctor strides into the room. He's tall, as most doctors seem to be, and wearing a pair of circular glasses that don't flatter his face shape. A receding gray hairline reveals that he's wearing too much gel and his nose is crooked. Oddly enough, the sheer _normality_ of his appearance reassures Tony. He sees Peter drop some in the corner of his eye as well, as if having arrived to the same conclusion.

No bad guys. No threats. Just a doctor and a broken bone.

"Sorry about the wait, Mr. Parker, Mr. Barton," he says and takes a seat on the rolling stool. He's holding a clipboard that he glances at for a second before looking up. "Broken arm?"

"That's what we're assuming." Tony answers when Peter doesn't. "It doesn't look so hot."

Dr. Bills hums and lifts out a hand to Peter. "Can I see it?"

Peter glances at him first for confirmation before unwrapping the blanket still hooked around his shoulders and lifting right arm up. The doctor rolls down the sleeve as gently as he can, but Peter still winces once at the motion.

Tony bites on his lower lip sharply to keep himself from reacting. He didn't see the wound before they got out of the car. Peter's been holding his arm close like it would wither away if he did any differently. But it's not pretty. The length of skin is covered in a blue-black bruise that spreads outwards, yellowing at the edges. The worst of the break appears to have been closer to his wrist, because the bruises spread towards his fingers. A different bruise catches his attention though, near Peter's elbow.

Dr. Bills, to his credit, only blinks. "Hm. Ouch. What did you say you did again?"

"Fell down the stairs." Peter grumbles, looking anywhere but the arm. Tony can't stop, transfixed.

"Stairs." Dr. Bills sounds doubtful, but nods anyway, looking at the wound from all angles. When he lifts it up a little, Tony can see the bump of deformation where the bone should be flat and isn't. "Can you flex your fingers for me, Peter?"

Peter tries, but winces and ducks his head. "I don't think so."

Nerve damage.

 _Murder is illegal, Tony_ reminds a voice in his head that sounds remarkably like Rhodey.

"I think broken is a pretty good assessment. Let's get it X-rayed and then we'll determine where we need to set it. Are you hurt anywhere else? Vision blurry? Dizzy?" Dr. Bills asks, looking up from Peter's arm to his face.

Peter shrinks beneath the stare and Tony gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Um." The kid's voice is ghostly, "I just feel like of achy everywhere. I think the worst was my arm." Peter adds after a moment. "I feel kind of sick, though. Not nauseous, just sick."

"Hmm." Dr. Bills sets Peter's arm down and lifts his hands, "Would you lean forward? I want to check your head."

Peter shoots him a look of _please no,_ but Tony can't slip him out of this one. Even as much as he would love to re-bundle the kid in the blanket and carry him out on his back refusing to let anything else hurt him. Peter needs help. If there's a head injury, they need to know _now._

Peter's shoulders slump and he leans forward. Dr. Bills works quickly, fingers dancing around the skull as he feels for anything swollen. A slight frown touches the edge of his lips, but he thankfully makes no indication that anything serious is going on. "I can't feel anything extremely wrong, but I think I want to get that checked at, too, just in case. Mr. Barton," Dr. Bills turns to him, "would you mind stepping out for a moment? I have some questions that I want to ask Peter that I'd think you'd both feel more comfortable if you weren't here for."

Tony rather disagrees, but keeps his tongue in check and nods. "Yeah. Where do you want me to wait?"

"I'll take Peter to the X-ray after I'm finished and let the nurse run the program, so you can wait in the waiting room." Dr. Bills says, "It will probably be about twenty minutes. I'll have the nurse come get you when we're finished."

Tony nods again and reaches out to give Peter's shoulder a squeeze. "See you in a few, alright?"

Peter nods mutely, eyes shifting back to the floor, resigned. He _looks_ sick. Tony would much rather sit here beside him for the rest of the operation, but fighting his way through it won't help Peter. It's what Tony _wants,_ not what the kid _needs._ At least this way he can have some time to contact Pepper before he shows up at the Tower with the kid in tow.

Not that she was really expecting anything different. They both knew when Peter called that he was coming back for at least that day.

But permanent residence—like what Tony is thinking—might throw her.

Peter gives him a weak, but reassuring smile of _I'll be okay_ and Tony feels a little better. He doesn't want the kid to be alone, but if Peter thinks he can make it through...He nods once, trusting him, and exits the room without another word, leaving the kid and the doctor to their questions. Tony is pretty sure he knows what Dr. Bills is going ask. It's the same thing that Tony asked.

_Did you fall or were you pushed?_

Above the broken arm, Tony could make out an older bruise. Something that resembled fingers near the elbow, and he's not stupid. Given everything Peter already told him about Matt, he's not going to assume it was anything different than May's one and only.

He _knows_ those bruises like he knows his own voice. Knows the fear that's sticking in Peter's eyes and the lingering exhaustion. He knows Dr. Bills saw it too. The idea of what Matt's been doing makes him sick.

_Of all the things I wanted to protect you from kid, my childhood was at the top of that list._

He makes it back to the lobby without any troubles. He only runs into the perky nurse again and she doesn't stop him, only waving. Tony sinks into his previously abandoned seat and pulls his phone from his pocket.

FRIDAY left him a text message. It's how they communicate in circumstances where people aren't supposed to know she exists. It was something Jarvis suggested, and carried on after his death. _I'm reading no life-threatening scans, Boss. The visit should be short._

Relief flutters in his stomach.

He texts her back, _Anything worse than his arm?_

_No, Boss. Just a few bruises. His ankle might give him trouble for a few days, but his healing factor will make quick work of that._

He closes his eyes. He saw the arm. He _knew_ about the arm. Peter has the unfortunate habit of hiding injuries until they knock him nearly dead. It frustrates him, even if he's much the same. Sometimes he wonders if Peter was like that before or after he met him. Probably somewhere in the middle, he couldn't go running to May about Spider-Man injuries when she didn't know about Spider-Man.

_May._

His stomach coils with anger. He shoves it down into the depth of hatred swirling at his feet, demanding retribution for what has been done. It's not time yet. He's not allowed to be angry yet. He texts FRIDAY a quick _thank you_ and then scrolls to his contacts until he finds Pepper's name. He hits call and holds the phone to his ear.

He imagines that, despite the hour, she's awake now. He doubts she would have gone to sleep until he had an update about the kid. She's the one who woke him when his phone was ringing in the first place from an unknown number. The phone that Peter had to use because he must have left his at M&M paradise.

The nickname he gave the place months ago makes him want to strangle something. (Some _one.)_

Paradise.

That's what he called the place where Peter was beaten and belittled. Where his home turned into a waking nightmare. A prison.

" _Tony_ ," Pepper's voice draws him from his thoughts. She sounds worried. " _Tony, did you find him?"_

"Yeah." Tony says and runs a hand through his hair, suddenly realizing how tired he feels. "I found him." Pepper is quiet, waiting for him to speak. "We're at instacare...He's not looking so good. Pep," he hesitates, uncertain, "he's coming home. Maybe indefinitely."

" _Instacare_ _…_ " Pepper repeats. She sounds like she's trying not to groan in despair. " _What happened? Who hurt him?"_

Sometimes he wishes she wasn't so in tune with his mind. The thought of talking about this, about what Peter _said,_ makes it all real. It makes his ignorance real. The fact that he is going to take legal custody of the kid he's thought of as a son for years. That he and May will have a _talk_ and he's going to put Matt behind bars for as long as humanly possible.

"Matt pushed him down a staircase." Tony says after a moment. "Peter's arm is broken at least. The doctor suspects a head wound. He probably has at least mild hypothermia, too. He didn't have shoes on, Pep. Or a coat. He was just wandering around the outside of some Walmart in the snow. I think he'd been outside for a while."

He _is_ going to be sick. What happened to make Peter _flee_ like that? If Peter had _planned_ to run away, he would have grabbed shoes and a coat at least. He's not stupid. He knows he can't conquer the elements by sheer willpower alone.

There's a moment of silence where Tony knows that Pepper has grabbed something to squeeze in frustration. " _Matt..._ pushed _our kid down the stairs?"_

Our kid.

_Ours._

It sounds strange coming from her lips, but he knows it's not the first or last time. Peter has been _theirs_ since before the Snap. They've both called him the title. Especially more frequently, when Peter has been leaning on them more. In an effort, Tony now realizes, to likely fill the void that Matt and May were causing in him.

Everything he wants to do to Matt is illegal. Tony's finding that he cares less and less. The pragmatic voice that shifts between Rhodey or Steve in his head says otherwise.

"Yeah." Tony's voice is tight. "I couldn't get him to say much more than that, other than the fact that May has been neglecting him in favor of her husband." It doesn't _sound_ like something May would do, not the woman that he met, but _Peter_ has been living there. Tony hasn't.

"I don't…" Tony shakes his head, biting on his lip, "I don't know what to do. Do I bring the entire law force down on them? You know I could probably get D.C. involved with it. Part of me just wants to disappear Matt quietly, if you know what I mean. Maybe both of them."

Pepper releases a heavy breath. She's quiet for a long few moments. " _Just bring him home for a few days. Let's get the full story and monitor him. I want to act. I really do, Tony, but Peter doesn't need us to go in there guns blazing. We don't have the legal right. As far as the law in concerned, you're only friends."_

He flexes his fingers, wincing slightly as the metal brace digs into his hands. It's stiff with the cold weather, something he hasn't quite found a way to beat yet. He'll get there. The paralysis from snapping won't stop him.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he realizes that Pepper's right. He doesn't have a legal right to step in. It won't be until he files a court case and fights for guardianship. Because he doesn't care anymore if May was good for him when he was younger, she isn't what Peter needs _now._ Her husband abused him, and she didn't do anything.

"I'm going to file a court case." He tells her slowly. "I know that much."

" _Hold that thought."_ Pepper says firmly. " _Don't be rash. Let's watch for a few days. I trust you, I trust Peter, I just want to make sure that_ we _would be the best option for him. You may be retired, but people still want to kill Iron Man every other weekend. I don't want Peter to get in the middle of that."_

He already has.

They both know that.

" _And the Avengers nearly get themselves killed on your off weeks. I want to take him Tony, I do._ I want that _and I know you do too, but I won't let us step in and make Peter's life more miserable than it already is."_

Tony slumps.

" _Let's take him for a few days. We can talk with Peter. See if this would even be possible."_

They have Morgan, and she's doing just fine. Lila, Nathaniel and Cooper are doing just fine. Why can't Tony take Peter? _Because Peter is a superhero you idiot, he's different than Clint's kids or your own._

If Tony takes Peter, he pulls him out of New York and all his friends. He pulls Spider-Man off the map, even if no one has seen him since 2018. Tony lives in another State now. He'd uproot Peter's entire life, and that won't make things better. In order to be stable for Peter's current situation, Tony would have to move back to New York. Not something he's terribly against, but still.

This isn't just a matter of yanking Peter out of M&M's grasp. There's a lot of strings attached. Strings they either need to learn how to manage or start snipping. And this all depends on what Peter wants. Pepper's right, as she usually is. _Peter_ is the voice that Tony needs to listen to. He just won't let the kid go back to M&M's. That's final. But maybe...maybe Peter wouldn't want to stay with them. The thought makes him ache, but he has to entertain the possibility.

" _Tony?"_ Pepper's voice is quiet.

Tony releases a breath, humming in question.

" _Just...bring him home."_ That he can do. " _I know there's more you want to say, but I think we should have this conversation in person. Where is he now?"_

"X-ray." Tony answers, voice clipped. "Doc asked me to step out so he could ask a few questions. I think he saw the same handprint I did, but assumed it was me." The thought makes him sick. He knows that the doctor has to play with the idea, but the very concept makes Tony _angry._ He would never do that to Peter. To Morgan.

_Matt…_

_Murder is illegal_ says Rhodey's voice in his head again.

" _Hand…"_ Pepper sounds stricken. She releases a breath. " _Right. I'll have the legal time on standby."_ His lip quirks up, even if he's bitter that he's satisfied about this. A sort of vindictive jibe into Matt's imaginary side. _If you think you'll get away with this…well. That's adorable._

Tony glances up at the clock. It's only been ten of the twenty minutes. His leg is jumping. Fidgeting up and down, up and down. His fingers won't stop moving, even if it hurts beneath the brace. He releases a heavy sigh and squeezes his eyes shut. "I think I'm going to call Rhodey."

" _That's probably a good idea."_ Pepper agrees, " _I think—oh."_ She pauses and he hears a muffled voice on the other line of the phone. It's high. Young. Morgan. He squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back. He was sort of hoping that she'd sleep until he got back, then he could be there for Christmas morning. And Peter could too.

But Morgan is a light sleeper. She probably heard when Tony got up to go get Peter and only waited until Pepper started to talk with him before she approached.

" _Sorry. Morgan's awake,"_ Pepper says and he hears Pepper shifting on the other side of the line. " _Do you want to say hi to Daddy?"_

Tony's lips are pressed together tight enough that they hurt. He hears another shuffle of the phone before Morgan's voice rings up on the other side, " _Hi, Daddy."_

"Hey, little miss." He tries to keep his voice even. All he really wants to do is swear and scream, but he shouldn't do that in front of his daughter. She mimics him too much. She'll pick up on all his bad habits if he isn't careful.

" _Merry Christmas!"_

"You know where most good children are at this hour on Christmas?" Tony questions, quirking a lip up, "Asleep. In bed. Like good little angels. Aunt Nat tell the story of Krampus yet?"

" _Mommy doesn't let Aunt Tasha tell me stories. And Santa already came."_ Morgan argues, " _And you're gone."_ She's quiet a moment, as if biting on her lower lip before asking in a softer voice, " _Is Peter okay? You left to getted him, right?"_

 _Get,_ his inner grammar teacher corrects. It's spawned a new life after Morgan began to talk, but he bites back most of them now. He lets Pepper do it instead. "Yeah," Tony admits in an exhale. "I did. He's probably going to be staying Christmas and New Year with us, honey. Mom will explain, alright? I need to call Uncle Rhodey."

" _...Okay,"_ her voice is quiet. " _Tell Peter merry Christmas."_

"I will. Merry Christmas to you, too. I love you." He promises. "Can I talk to Mom?"

The phone shuffles and Pepper sounds up again. " _Merry Christmas,"_ she says without much cheer. " _I'll let you go to talk with Rhodey. Keep me updated, alright? Let me know when you're on your way back to the Tower."_

"'Kay." He agrees, making a mental note to do that. "I love you."

_"Love you, too. Bye."_

"Bye."

He hangs up and dials Rhodey. He shifts on his seat, breathing out a heavy breath. He only has to wait a few rings before the phone is answered and his friend's sleep-slurred voice picks up. " _It is not even five AM. If you are calling to wish me 'merry Christmas' Tony—"_

"No." Tony interrupts. He blows out a breath and then says, "No. I wish it was that simple. I'm going to commit a murder and I need you to help me or talk me out of it."

He'd prefer the former, but he'd sleep easier with the latter.

Rhodey is silent for a long moment. Tony can almost see him rubbing his face before sitting up. " _Alright. Tell me what happened."_

000o000

Rhodey talks him down. Unfortunately. A reminder that being in prison isn't going to help Peter does the trick. It feels like being slapped in the face, but he needed it. Rhodey sounds a little disappointed though, as if he'd much rather have helped Tony commit a homicide.

When Peter is finally released from the doctor's grasp, his arm set and wrapped inside a sling, Dr. Bills instructs Tony to get it casted in a few days when the swelling has gone down. A part of Tony wants to sneer _you've decided I'm not the bad guy, then,_ but he bites it back. He swings his arm around Peter's shoulders and nods, promising to return, but not intending to. Peter's enhanced healing will have it fixed in a few days.

Peter looks pale and flushed out, his eyes holding a glassy shine. Dr. Bills also instructs Tony to keep him warm, and makes Peter promise to tell Tony if he can't feel his toes. Apparently they took the brunt of the hypothermia and Dr. Bills is surprised that Peter can walk.

Tony is too, if he's being honest.

But so is the life of a healing factor.

When they finally manage to get out of the building and back into the car, it's almost six AM. Tony feels exhausted, but doesn't say anything. Peter's wrapped inside the fleece blanket again, head resting on his knees. Tony texts Pepper to let her know they're on their way and starts the car to get the heater going before turning to the kid. "Are you hungry? We can stop to get something."

Peter shakes his head mutely. Tony frowns. He has the sinking suspicion that Peter's starving, but he doesn't push. He probably should, but he doesn't want to make this any harder on Peter than it has to be.

"Can we just go? Please?" Peter's voice is a whisper. "I really just want to lay down."

"Yeah." Tony pulls the car out of park. "That sounds like a good idea. You can sleep now. I'll let you know when we get to the Tower." The word, even after all the time, fumbles off his tongue strangely. He's used to the Compound. He has been for the better part of eight years.

Peter nods and closes his eyes, leaning his head firmly against his knees.

Tony pulls his glasses from his jacket pocket and slips them up his face. FRIDAY's presence hums at the edge of the tech. "Find me a route to the Tower with the least amount of traffic." Tony requests. His AI is silent as she fulfills it, loading the path into the car's GPS. Tony presses his lips together and glances at the kid again before pulling out onto the road.

Traffic, as ever in Manhattan, is a nightmare. The day nor the hour seem to matter to his fellow New Yorkers as movement is congested and slow. He keeps his patience level up as best he can, but the drive to the Tower has never seemed to take so long. _It's Christmas,_ he reminds himself on multiple occasions, _be nice._

When he pulls into the garage and twists the key from the ignition, he's never felt more relieved. Home. At last. He hates driving in Manhattan. He was fine with LA or any other part of California. Just—not New York. This is why he makes Happy do it.

The car off and his road frustrations settled, Tony turns his attention to the teenager with him. Peter didn't fall asleep. He didn't talk, either, staring out the window, but he didn't sleep. Tony didn't bug him. He wanted to, but if Peter wanted to talk, he would have started.

"Hey." Tony says at length. "We should probably go inside now. Get you settled."

The guest bedroom on Tony's floor that Peter was using when he stayed overnight in the Tower during the summer is still mostly untouched. He thinks that Morgan went in there to grab one of the spare blankets, but beyond that, it's pretty much the same way that Peter left it. He stayed over a lot during the summer, now that Tony is thinking about it. Because of Matt?

It's _December._ How long has this been going on?

How could he have missed it for so long?

Peter unlocks the seatbelt and opens the passenger door without a word, clambering out. Tony's lips thin and he double checks to make sure he has the keys before following the kid out. He quickly crosses around the car towards Peter, who seems set on making it to the elevator as fast as humanly possible.

"Peter, wait." Tony requests. Peter stops, going rigid. He doesn't turn to face him, and though it strikes Tony as odd, he doesn't say anything. Tony reaches him after a few paces and, before he can talk himself out of it, wraps Peter in a hug. Peter stiffens further beneath him if possible, and doesn't return it. He releases a shuddering breath as if the physical contact is painful.

Tony doesn't let him go. "I'm sorry." He says after a few long moments. He tightens his grip, fully aware that he doesn't know half of what was going on between the kid and M&M. But what he does know is enough. "I'm so sorry, Peter. I swear that if I had known…"

 _Not good enough. You_ should _have known. You're freakin' Iron Man, you idiot._

"You're not my dad." Peter mumbles, as if he can read Tony's thoughts. The words sting, like being slapped. He doesn't know why. Peter has a perfectly fine biological father and uncle resting six feet under. Tony has...never been a replacement to them. "Thank you for coming to get me. I'm sorry about the hospital bill, I know that—"

"Shut up." Tony interrupts. "Actual billionaire, remember?"

 _Kid, trust me, the last thing I'm worried about is money._ He keeps that last bit to himself.

Peter shudders beneath him again, and the fleece blanket slips around his shoulders. He needs a coat. Or a jacket. Or hot chocolate. All three. Tony closes his eyes for a moment and runs a hand through Peter's messy hair to work through some of the worst of the brown tangles. "You need a shower."

"I know." Peter submits with a sigh. He's still stiff.

Tony pulls back and holds his shoulders for a moment, waiting until the kid looks up at him before he speaks. "I'll get this sorted out. I promise. Let's just get you to bed."

Peter looks away from him. Tony leads him to the elevator and FRIDAY wordlessly escorts them to his and Pepper's floor. Peter seems to be sinking into himself further and further as time passes, despite Tony's hand around his shoulders. He's still shuddering—shivers, some part of his mind identifies—and Tony makes a mental note to get some extra blankets from the closet.

When the doors open and they're released onto the floor, Pepper is waiting. Morgan is absent, and Tony suspects this was on purpose. His wife is still dressed in a loose gray T-shirt and reindeer covered sweatpants, a gift from Natasha two years ago. Her hair is falling around her shoulders and despite the fact that she's obviously bedraggled, Tony is struck again by how lucky he is. This woman chose him. He nearly lost _all of this_ to Thanos in June.

Peter stops momentarily, as if he wasn't expecting Pepper to be there. Tony's at an awkward angle for reading his expression, so all he has to go by is body language. It's tight.

"Hi, Pete." Pepper says softly. She shares a worried look with Tony. She takes a step forward and touches his shoulder, but Peter doesn't react. "Do you want anything before we get you to bed?"

Peter shakes his head, dazed.

Pepper looks towards him. Tony releases Peter's shoulder after giving it another squeeze. "I'm going to go find the extra blankets." He announces.

Pepper nods to him, gently leading Peter down the hall towards the bedrooms. Tony passes the Christmas tree as the moves for the closets, yanking open the door and frowning into the space. He breathes out as slowly as he can, trying to ignore how much his entire body feels like it's _rattling._ It's not anger. It's...he doesn't know. Frustration?

This wasn't supposed to happen to _Peter._

He needs to hit something.

He gets the blankets and returns to Peter's room, entering as Pepper leans over and presses a soft kiss to Peter's forehead. The kid looks catatonic, on his back and staring up at the ceiling without blinking. He looks like he's been through a battle, and given everything, maybe it's not too far off. It's so different from how Peter was on Thanksgiving. The kid was skittish, but he wasn't...like this. Tony bites down on his tongue and sets the blankets down on the end of the bed.

He and Pepper wordlessly spread them out over the teen, but Peter only shivers a few times, teeth snapping together and expression furrowed in something that looks like despair or fury. Maybe a mix of the two. Tony opens his mouth to ask if he's okay, but Pepper catches his eye and wordlessly shakes her head. _Not now._

He can't mess this up again. What if Peter _does_ need it now?

Pepper shakes her head again.

Tony sighs softly and gives Peter's shoulder a squeeze. "We'll be outside if you need us, okay? FRIDAY's just a word away." Peter nods, but it doesn't feel like an actual response, more like an automated jerk. Tony hesitates and then adds quietly, "I love you, Pete. Good night."

Pepper takes his hand and they leave the room without another word, shutting the door softly behind them. Trusting that FRIDAY will alert them if the need arises, the two of them venture out into the kitchen.

"Morgan?" Tony asks.

"In her room." Pepper rests her hands on the countertop, brow furrowed. "I sent her back to bed. I know it's Christmas, but given the circumstances, I thought it would be best."

Tony nods. His chest feels tight, like a coiled snake prepared to pounce. He doesn't know if he wants to scream or cry. He shakes his head slightly and glances at his wife. They share an entire conversation with a single look. The frustrations, worry, the _what now,_ and so much more. In the end, all Tony has to do is release an agitated breath and Pepper sigh, and they've said everything they didn't share over the phone.

"I need to clear my head." Tony says, glancing at the time. It's a little past seven AM now. "Give me until eight. Then we can wake up Morgan and talk after."

Pepper nods. Tony moves for the elevator, dropping his keys on the counter and Pepper grabs his arm. "Tony," her voice is gentle, but a hard warning at the same time. "Don't do anything stupid."

He scoffs. "How long have you known me?"

"Long enough that I know you will." Pepper says, clearly frustrated. Tony doesn't have any words to combat that. "Nothing permanent. No lab explosions. No murder."

That narrows his options considerably, but wasn't what he was thinking of anyway. He pulls his arm from her grip as gently as he can and tries to offer a reassuring expression. It falls flat, he knows, because Pepper's brow only furrows with worry. He sighs and presses a kiss to her cheek. She squeezes his hand and lets him go.

He doesn't stop moving until he's standing in front of the door he had in mind. FRIDAY was a quiet companion on the elevator, seeming to realize how much Tony doesn't want to talk. Tony raises a hand and raps a few times on the door, his body tensing as he waits for a response. He fiddles with the brace for a moment, running a finger over the smooth metal attached to his fingers.

He only has to wait less than a minute before a bedraggled Natasha opens the door and stares at him. Her red hair is yanked into a sloppy bun that's falling apart, and she's dressed in her usual black. He can't help when his gaze slips to her gray eyes, but he pulls them away faster than normal. It's the only thing that remains from Vormir—her blindness. That, and the ugly scar stretching down the back of her skull where it was split open when she fell. The Soul required a penance for Natasha's life and out of all the other life-altering injuries she sustained, blindness was the best of it.

Sometimes he can't stop himself from looking at the scars, though. The same scars he bares from snapping. The ugly, wretched things that have permanently marred him. _Them._

Natasha's expression is neutral, but he can tell she's exhausted. Late night. Nightmares? " _Chto?"_ she demands in Russian. _What?_ "We are not children. If you're here to wake me up on Christmas morning—"

Why does everyone assume that? Tony hates Christmas. They all know he hates Christmas. Why would he ever be excited about it? This would much more be Clint's department, and he doesn't like Christmas either. He'd just do it to be a pain in the butt.

"No." Tony interrupts sharply.

Natasha's eyebrows raise slightly, and she leans against the doorframe. "Alright."

Tony hesitates for a brief moment on the words he _wants_ to say— _help me commit a murder. You know we can get away with it—_ and instead says blankly, "I need you to hit me in the face."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're comfortable with it, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
> 
> Next chapter: February 7th, 14th, or sometime in between that. :)


	2. 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay.
> 
> Whoa.
> 
> Just. Whoa. Thank you guys so much for your flood of support! I am blown away. I really thought that this story would be read by like, three people, and sink into my dashboard. But no. (I really can't believe how many people were interested). Really, your comments and favs/kudos have meant so much. More than I can say. Thank you! Thank you!
> 
> Warnings: Death idolization thoughts (not quite suicidal), some violence, blood, and implied/referenced past child abuse.
> 
> NOTE: NOTE: NOTE:
> 
> I'm kind of ignoring Endgame ending canon, if, y'know, you hadn't come to that conclusion. For me, it makes a lot more sense that since Thanos halved the universe, Bruce and Hulk were separated, rather than merged together. So I'm saying that after they snapped again Hulk and Bruce came back together post that, but Bruce was alone for five years. I just...Hulk is a part of Bruce, but he's not Bruce. So yeah. :)

* * *

"So where's the kid now?" Natasha asks, if a little breathlessly, twisting left to avoid Tony's punch. He grits his teeth in annoyance, dodging Natasha's roundhouse kick by staggering back a couple of steps. She recovers herself smoothly, as she always does. He would have toppled to the floor, but Natasha lives on her toes. She never gets off-balanced. He lifts his fists, trying to _breathe._ His shoulder pinches where the brace is digging into his skin uncomfortably, but he ignores it.

The brace whirring as he bends his elbow is a little harder to, though. His body didn't make _noise_ like that before the second Snap. And now, here he is. Slowly becoming more machine than man. First the arc reactor, now his arm. _What's next?_

"Here." Tony says, backing up so he can circle around her. "I brought him back after the ER. You honestly think that I would leave him in some shady parking lot? No. He's asleep upstairs."

"Asleep or ' _asleep'?"_ Natasha questions with a raised eyebrow. Tony grits his teeth, remembering Peter's exhaustion when they finally got to the Tower. The catatonic rise and fall of his chest, but the numbness of his eyes and words.

Honestly, " _asleep"_ is probably a better word for it, but he's trying not to be a pessimist.

"Asleep." Tony snaps, going for her stomach. Natasha blocks it with ease, their forearms slamming together. He winces for her sake, fully aware that the brace doesn't feel like the kiss of an angel. The assassin doesn't seem to care, yanking her arm up and going for his face. Tony jerks their connected arms to throw off her aim. Then, when the threat has passed, he says breathlessly, "Given everything that happened, I don't blame him. When he wakes up, I'll ask more questions, but I don't see it being for a couple of hours."

Natasha's lips purse, blind eyes flitting wildly for a moment before she twists their arms away from each other and throws a false punch towards his shoulder as her hand wraps around his wrist and she twists it behind his back, yanking up. He grimaces, his fingers flexing in an effort to escape, but finding no relief.

His left hand moves, the brace making that awful noise again as he attempts to use momentum to pull himself free. It doesn't work, and Natasha's grip only tightens.

A slight noise escapes his throat.

The pain hurts, but that was the _point_ of all of this. He needs to hurt. He deserves it after his ignorance.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Natasha's voice is oddly flat.

Tony wiggles his wrist, but Natasha pushes him forward, using the position like a leash. "I don't know yet." He says tightly. "I just know that Peter's not going back there. He can't. Aren't we legally obligated to tell the police about what's going on now that we know?"

Not that bringing the police into _anything_ has ever been remotely helpful. If they needed the law on their side, they'd use S.H.I.E.L.D., but Tony doubts that he can get Coulson wrapped up in this without it becoming one big, ugly legal mess.

"Yeah." Natasha's voice is casual. "But that's never really stopped you before."

She pushes him forward another step and Tony sees his advantage, hooking his foot around her ankle as she completes the step with him and _pulls._ Both of them go toppling backward, but Tony twists from the grip in a roll, leaving Natasha to catch herself. And she does, flipping up to her feet and wiping stray blood from her nose away.

They're both sporting nose bleeds now. Tony also has several bruises forming on his stomach from when she did manage to make contact. The skin of Natasha's upper arm is split from when he got her with the brace. The metal may be smooth, but not nearly as much as it should be. He doesn't doubt he could peel fruit with it if he really tried.

Tony bites back a groan. "I don't _know._ I don't want to make things worse for Peter by running in there, throwing myself into the whole mess and not accomplishing anything."

"He reached out to _you."_ Natasha points out, pointing her bare foot for a moment as she tries to stretch her ankle.

Neither one of them bothered to change before coming down to the gym. Natasha is still in her black tank top and sweatpants, Tony in the first clean pair of shirt and pants he found in his haste to get to the car and Peter.

"Yeah." Tony says, miserable. "I just wish it meant more. It just...he was so tense. Like he expected me to snap and start throwing things. He wasn't like this in November. I would have noticed if he was like this. Did things suddenly go from bad to worse in three weeks? How could all of this have happened and I didn't notice _anything?"_

He dives for her now, attempting to catch her off guard and use up the pent up energy, but Natasha must hear him coming—that stupid clunky brace—and pulls out of the way. Tony rolls up to his feet, and Natasha is on him again their hands moving wildly.

"You lived in another State," she says, breathless, "you only communicated via phone once a week or texting and, even as much as it seems to the contrary, Peter is more adept at keeping secrets than we give him credit for."

Tony snorts, twisting his face away from Natasha's punch. "Yeah. Right."

"You didn't have any reason to suspect—" Natasha tries again.

"Yes, I did. I knew that Peter didn't _like_ Matt, but I didn't think it was to the extent of this. And if not for _that,_ then I should have known because _my father did the exact same thing!"_

Peter was not supposed to have to go through that. _No one should._

He scowls up at her. "You're supposed to be the super spy. The all-knowing Sherlock. You were with him the whole time I was, and yet you said _nothing._ You didn't even _notice,_ did you? Or did you and you didn't bother to make a note of the fact that my kid was being abused?"

It's an ugly word. One that makes his stomach crawl and a sick feeling teeter at the edge of his tongue. He _hates_ the word with a passion. Both because of what it means, and what it _does._

Natasha's fist slams into his face. The shock of it startles him, and the force of it sends him crumpling to the hard floor before he can catch himself. His head smacks and his vision blurs for a moment, blood pooling in his mouth.

Natasha is breathing heavily, but her temper seems to have reached its limit. "You want to blame me for your ignorance? Fine." She snaps. "But get off your stupid _yagoditsy._ I may not know the kid well, but I liked him. Moping isn't going to help anyone, least of all him." She takes a wavering breath and then adds imperceptibly softer, "I know what you're doing. Why we're down here."

He looks up at her, wiping blood from his lips. "Yeah?"

He feels strangely cold, and he knows it's not because of a low temperature.

Natasha squats down next to him, her head tilted dangerously. Red-blonde hair is sticking to the sides of her face. She didn't bother to tie it back. There isn't a point anymore. It doesn't exactly impair her broken vision. All it does is wave in her face and get in her mouth. "Tell me how using me as a punisher is going to help, Tony."

He stills. He feels oddly wordless, and Natasha releases a disgusted noise. Her lips part to say something else, but at that moment the door to the room opens.

Both of them flinch, turning to face the entryway and Tony releases a soft curse under his breath, shooting a glare towards FRIDAY's camera for a moment. That's about all the time he has before Steve asks in a tone that's barely a controlled shout, "What are you _doing!?"_

Natasha releases a word in her native tongue that causes Tony's eyebrows to lift. One of the first things he learned from her—not Natalie, _Natasha—_ was how to curse in Russian. He knows the good ones.

Natasha all but leaps up to her feet as Tony scrambles to his, standing by her side. He feels stupid, like a elementary school student who just got caught fighting in the hallways by a teacher. Steve is moving towards them rapidly, taking in their appearances. Bruises, blood, he can see the captain categorizing everything and knows that he's probably not going to walk away from this one without a reprimand.

"Sparring." Natasha answers to Steve's question.

"Why are you here?" Tony demands instead, wiping blood away from his nose. He wants to sneer, _you're less than welcome,_ but he bites on the end of his tongue to control himself.

Steve comes to a stop in front of them, arms crossed, eyes tight. "What part of Bruce's warning _not_ to get into any serious brawls did you not understand?" He demands flatly.

"We understood all of it." Natasha reassures, and the fact that she's snipping at Steve proves just how much he set her off. Great. An angry Natasha is not fun to manage. "We just chose to ignore it."

Steve shoots her a look, but it's pointless. He knows that eleven years of habit are hard to break, but Natasha doesn't _see_ them anymore. The quick glances, the reading of expressions—it's all gone. He knows Natasha is angry with this. It's why she punched him. If she _had_ been at her best, Peter's problem would have ended in November. He knows that he shouldn't have jibed there yet, because it's a raw, flayed wound that he shouldn't go poking with a stick at.

But what he knows and his mouth says are sometimes two vastly different things.

"You should have been more careful." Steve chides, taking a step forward and lightly taking Tony's left hand to stare at the bloody knuckles beneath the grip. Tony buries a sigh of annoyance, but has long since come to accept the fact that within the Avengers, Steve is pack mother. He worries over everything constantly, even if there isn't a need.

Really. He and Nat will be fine come a few days and ice.

Steve's frown deepens. "No more sparring. For either of you." He lifts his gaze pointedly to Natasha. "You aren't ready."

Natasha's expression flares for a brief moment and she swings a leg out to hit him, but Steve easily avoids it. "Nat." He says, resigned.

The Widow just scowls at him, arms crossed over her chest. Tony bites on his tongue, but shares her frustrations. Ever since the Snap everything has been _different._ He feels like an invalid now. He and Tasha, the broken ones.

_Shut up._

_There isn't time for your drama here, Stark._

_Stark men are made of iron, remember?_

"Pepper sent you." Tony says flatly, redirecting the conversation away from the thick, heavy topic. "Is it eight?"

"Yeah." Steve's gaze is still distant. Natasha grumbles something under her breath about Steve in her native tongue that isn't very pleasant and the captain winces before Natasha storms toward the door and yanks it open, storming out into the hall. Tony represses a groan, but only just. The captain shoots him a pointed look, barely above an irritated scowl.

"What?" Tony snaps.

"Nothing." Steve says, even though it's clearly a lie. Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes and flexes his fist, blowing out a long, steadying breath. He doesn't push Steve for answers, he doesn't really _care._ (He does, but he's being yanked at in so many directions right now that he doesn't know how much further he can _go.)_

Tony moves for the door, but stops when Steve grabs his arm. "Tony," his voice is softer, as if having remembered something upsetting. Tony glances back at him, and has a pretty good idea on what when he sees the heat behind Steve's calm exterior. "Pepper told me what happened. With Peter."

Peter. Not "the kid" or "your intern", even "Spider-Man." Steve has only called him Peter a handful of times that Tony can remember, and it makes him slightly sick to think about how much everything has just changed. This doesn't just affect Peter now, _everyone_ who knows him is bait for the dangling string that is Matt.

But Peter is in the center of that hurricane, and unless they do something quickly, he's going to drown.

"How much?" Tony questions, letting his shoulders slump.

Steve is quiet for a moment. "Enough. Were you going to tell me?"

Tony hesitates. He...doesn't know. Ever since Siberia everything has been...hard. He and Steve never had the best relationship beforehand, but after Thanos and the Snap and...everything, they had to pull themselves together for the rest of the world. The trust is there again, and Tony doubts that anything could break it, but Peter is... _Peter._

Tony would protect him with his life, even if that meant he had to do so from his teammates. His family.

"What would you have done if I did?" Tony questions instead of answering.

When Steve speaks, it's Steve _,_ not the Captain. It's not the leader of the Avengers, a hardened military leader hidden beneath a cold exterior. It's the broken man that hides beneath all of that. "Was he bruised?"

Tony gives a slight nod.

Steve's expression darkens some, "Then I probably would have done something stupid involving grabbing my shield and bashing someone's skull in."

Tony eyes him with mild surprise. "You…" he repeats, and wonders for a moment if, when the rest of the team learns this—and they will, because secrets aren't common between them, not after Germany—if Matt is going to make it to New Years. Or even tomorrow morning. "You don't even know him. Not really."

Steve shrugs, as if that's only a minor inconvenience. "I _do_ know him. I haven't spoken with him much, but I've heard you talk about him. And even if that wasn't the case, it wouldn't matter. He's important to you, so I'll protect him."

Tony tries to stop himself from openly gaping. Steve eyes him sadly and gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "We'll figure this out, Tony. I promise."

"But without the legal problems of a murder?" Tony mutters, moving for the door and trying to shake off his surprise. He hadn't really expected anyone to _agree_ with him.

Steve snorts. "I never said that it was off the table."

And with that, the two of them move towards the elevator. They leave behind the conversation in the gym and Tony forces himself to pull together a semblance of a man excited for Christmas. He's not. All he wants to do is scream into a pillow and hit something. But he's already hit Natasha and that didn't really help.

So what _will?_

000o000

When he wakes up, he doesn't open his eyes. He lays on the mattress, the blankets wrapped around his frame, but doing nothing against the cold that's radiating from inside. He feels _exhausted._ Dead-weight. His body isn't responding to his demands, instead insisting that he go back to bed and ignore that he even thought about getting up.

But Peter has...things. He can't remember what they are, only that he has things to do and he can't rest yet. Work? Is it work? No. That doesn't seem quite right. Does he have school? What day of the week is it? What day of the _year_ is it?

Peter hesitates again, but with far more effort than is probably normal, pulls his eyelids apart.

His brow furrows for a moment, because he knows his ceiling. He knows the patches and the scrapes and the repaint that he wasn't there for, but memorized from so many sleepless nights. This isn't—

Oh.

_Oh._

Memories quickly sweep through his brain: ending up in the middle of New York, spending the night in that alley. Nearly freezing to death. Walmart. Tony. The hospital. Peter attempts to shift his right hand and feels the unfamiliar embrace of the cast and the sling immediately responds.

He bites on the inside of his lip before glancing towards the clock and feels as his eyes widen. Six. Six _PM._ He slept for the entire day. He and Tony arrived at the Tower— _he actually called Tony—_ a little before seven, didn't they? That's like, what? Ten, eleven hours? He can't remember the last time he slept for that long. He didn't even know he _could_ sleep for that long anymore.

He shoves up into a seated position, his body groaning with aches and protest.

He winces, shifting slightly so he can lean back against the headboard and glances around the familiar room again. This is where he was staying over the summer, when he was trying to help Tony until he moved out of the State. This is where he hid from Matt and May in July and August.

And here he is again, doing the _exact same thing._ Full circle.

He sighs and tips his head back, staring up at the ceiling. His arms hurt. His toes and fingers feel funny. No. His fingers feel kinda swollen, but mostly just his right hand. Given the broken bone, he guesses that's to be expected.

He's still so freakin' _cold._ He wraps his arms miserably around himself and tugs his knees up next to his stomach. It's six PM. It's Christmas. Peter ran away.

_Peter ran away._

He hasn't seen May (or Matt) since the twenty-third. He's...he should feel guilty about that. He really should, but he just...can't. He can't feel anything. Just exhausted. His eyes feel raw like he'd been crying, but he can only remember _doing_ that when Tony started asking—

Tony knows. _Tony knows about Matt._ Tony is going _kill_ Matt. Pepper is going to help him. He's just sentenced someone to _death_ by opening his big, flapping mouth and now all that's going to happen is a strong kick in the backside. Why did he have to say something? Why couldn't he have just sputtered up some excuse about Spider-Man—his heart twists at the word, longing not strong enough to describe his _need_ for the other alter ego. But the suit is still stuffed in May's closet and has been since he broke her trust—and then, using said excuse, managed to convince Tony that everything was fine?

Then he could have...gone back. And it would have been fine. It really would have. Because Peter's not six. He can handle himself. And he's almost eighteen now. He could legally have moved away in what? A year and some months. Something like that. He's...he would have...have been fine.

Peter grabs his at his hair with his left hand and tugs on it, gripping the strands between his fingers desperately as if yanking can somehow give him the relief that he's seeking. His brain is too loud. His thoughts too chaotic. He wants to be sick, but he'd just sit there and dry heave as if it will help.

He has to go back. Pretending that staying here is going to be permanent is hilarious. Tony has a family now. He has Morgan. Pepper. Peter can't just impose in on that. Like he did Christmas. Morgan is still young, Christmas actually _means_ something to her. He should have just waited until the twenty-sixth before asking...or just...just not done it at all. He was fine yesterday. He survived. He still has all his body parts and that's really what matters in the long run, doesn't it?

How long does he get to hide here?

How long is this going to last?

Is May going to call the police? If she does, will Tony get _arrested_ if he stays here? He didn't even think about this last night. All he'd been focused on was the fact that he was cold and alone. As if somehow _his_ discomfort is going to magically be solved by getting Tony _arrested._ He should leave. Go back to his proper…

He can't. _He can't._ He can't go back. His entire body refuses and he draws in a gasping, horrified sip of air. His stomach feels like its cramping with panic. He squeezes his eyes shut, ashamed. It's a building, not a torture room. He's just. He's doing that thing again. Amplifying up the dramatics to make his situation seem worse than it is so he can be justified in his actions.

_He ran away._

Peter lets out a shaky breath and releases his scalp, slowly shuffling around the blankets so he can escape their embrace. There must be six or seven piled on top of the comforter. That explains the weight.

Peter moves towards the door on numb feet and hesitates for a moment, listening for any signs of movement. After what must be a minute with nothing but the sound of his breath and heartbeat pounding in his ears, Peter grabs the handle and opens the door to the hall.

No one immediately leaps out and demands what he's doing up. No one's there. His shoulders slump some with relief and Peter stumbles down the hall towards the shared bathroom between the rooms. He spots Morgan's door and hesitates when he sees the Christmas decorations plastered on the front. It's clearly a child's work with a ragged paper tree and glitter-covered decorations with Pepper's handwriting spelling _Merry Christmas_ across the decoration like tinsel.

It's Christmas.

It feels like the middle of September. He can't seem to get his mind to catch up with time lately.

Peter shakes of the thoughts and moves for the bathroom, pushing the door open and turning on the light. After using the facilities, Peter splashes water onto his face and stares at himself in the mirror for a moment. He doesn't recognize himself. The black sling wraps around his jacket tightly, making him seem slightly shorter. His eyes are haunted, shadowed, and heavy, like he's bearing a physical weight on his shoulders. His hair is longer, bangs flopping down his forehead, almost past his eyebrows, lazily. His face is more hollow and he looks…

Peter doesn't know. Sick isn't the right word for it. Maybe infected with a terminal disease?

 _I noticed you don't put effort into your appearance lately,_ Ned's voice from their argument before school let out slips through his head, soft and deadly, _you must not be looking in mirrors. That's good. You don't have to stare a hopeless case in the face every day._

Peter flinches back from the mirror, twisting around sharply so his back is facing the mirror and he's facing the white wall. The room is ocean themed. There's a painting of a lighthouse with the word "beach" written out over it with stickers. There are sea shells surrounding the painting.

His breath is escapes him hard and fast.

_Don't have to stare a hopeless case in the face every day._

That's what it was. Not plague victim. Hopeless case. He looks like a hopeless case. Peter's grip around the counter tightens. His left hand's fingers strain, grumpy, and Peter glances at them once to see they're still a little red. Swollen. Frostbite. Because even with a healing factor, he's not immune to it. Wandering around in single digit weather for about forty hours probably didn't help his case. He shouldn't even be _alive._

That isn't lost on him. He just...didn't tell the doctor about that. He said he'd been wandering around for about six and—his stomach jerks when the conversation is yanked up into the forefront of his mind. The doctor's sincere, concerned questions about whether or not Tony was the one who gave him the finger-bruise. Or if he was shoved, not pushed. He had barely been able to give coherent responses because he'd felt so horrified by the suggestion that all he'd wanted to do was scream.

Tony's never done that to him.

But what if…

_Stop it._

He shoves his way towards the door, smacking against it sharply when his feet almost give out. His toes are numb and he can't balance properly without feeling his ankles. It's like knowing that they're attached to his feet, but being unable to sense the ground. His knees clap against the door and he grimaces when his hand slips and he crumples fully to the bathroom tiles. Because Tony has one of those expensive bathrooms with tiles and a huge bathtub and soaps that probably cost more than Peter's entire paycheck.

He can't even make it to the door.

This is pathetic.

He squeezes his eyes shut and leans against the wooden frame for a moment, desperately trying to calm down, but not having much success. It's like he's screaming at himself, but he's deaf to all the words. His chest is heaving like he's crying, but he's not. He thinks he might be panicking though. It's hard to tell now. His body is so tense all the time that he can't ever really tell what "relaxed" is anymore.

With effort, Peter draws himself up and opens the door, stepping back into the hall. He doesn't go much further. He turns off the bathroom light and stands there for a long moment, debating what to do. His stomach feels like it's caving in on itself—when _was_ the last time he ate something?—but his body insists for more sleep. Does he find someone? Or does he...not do that?

"Mr. Parker," he startles at the voice, nearly jumping a foot in the air as he whirls to face behind him where the speaker is installed in the corner. "My apologies," FRIDAY's voice is calm, "I didn't mean to startle you. Boss asked me to inform you when you awoke that the Avengers are having a Christmas dinner on the communal floor. Will you be joining them?"

Suddenly he feels a lot less hungry.

He likes the Avengers. He does. It's just...that's a lot of people. And he looks like a half dead-thing drowned in a well. ( _A hopeless case.)_ And they'll ask questions. And he'll inevitably ruin their Christmas like he does everything else by dragging his problems into it. And then they'll all be plotting murder against Matt and Peter doesn't want them to _kill_ him. He makes May happy. And...that's all that's supposed to matter in the long run, isn't it?

Peter gets pushed to the side because he's not as important as them.

Or their child. Because May is _pregnant._ He didn't tell Tony that. He didn't tell anyone. He thinks if he tries to form the words on his tongue, they'll only get caught and he'll be left there fumbling around and making squeaking noises. He can't even process that. May has a human being growing in her. Said human being is _Matt_ and May's _actual_ child. Their birth child. The one that was not forced upon them after the Snap.

"Mr. Parker?" FRIDAY's voice has a touch of concern. He flinches again, yanked from his thoughts. "Are you alright?"

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His throat is dry and his tongue frozen.

"Would you like me to get Boss—" she starts.

"No!" Peter interrupts, his voice weak and gravelly. It's hoarse. He needs to find water. He moves for the kitchen restlessly, his body walking the familiar halls as if he's lived here his entire life. But his feet still aren't working right and he has to grab at the wall several times to stop himself from face planting.

"Mr. Parker," FRIDAY's voice follows him. "I think it would be for the best if you laid down."

He shakes his head, moving forward. He passes Pepper and Tony's room and bites on his lower lip when all he can think of is May and Matt and the Soul Stone dreams that have become all too frequent as of the late. May's rejection. She's his aunt. The only mother he can really remember. Isn't she supposed...no. That's unfair. He shouldn't...shouldn't assume that of her.

He makes it to the kitchen and fumbles around the cabinets, looking for glasses.

"Would you like me to inform Boss that you're awake?" FRIDAY questions, her voice slightly hesitant. Peter feels some surprise was through him at the realization that FRIDAY hasn't done so already. He would have thought that the moment he started shifting around on the bed that she'd have alerted the entire tower with alarm bells and flashing lights.

But no.

She didn't.

And Peter doesn't know why.

"No," he whispers softly, voice still hoarse. He thinks if he tries to shout all that will escape him is a little gasp. He can't speak up. He can't even scream. He can't—

Peter manages to find a glass and fumbles with it, but his fingers aren't working right and the glass slips from his left hand tumbles to the floor, landing on the brown-gray tile with an explosive shatter. The glass shoots across the space in large and small junks alike, digging at his socks and into his numb feet and toes.

He stares at the glass for a long moment, uncomprehending.

He just wanted water.

And he...broke Tony's glass. _Shoot._ Peter's body alights as if struck by a poker then and he swears under his breath, fumbling with his hand as he tries to remember what to do. You're not supposed to touch broken glass, right? Paper towels and a broom or something? He broke the glass. It's Christmas themed. He can see a decapitated Rudolf staring at him accusingly from where he's laying detached from the rest of his body.

Christmas themed glasses always bear significance. Maybe this was the first set that Pepper and Tony got for their wedding and Peter completely obliterated one of them. May was always fastidious about this. She only used her set of china on Easter and Christmas on occasion.

He moves frantically, spinning around and trying to remember where Tony kept a broom in this ridiculously large space. Cabinet. Pantry. Did he keep it in the pantry? Who keeps brooms in a pantry? (He broke the glass. Tony's going to hate him now. _He broke the glass.)_

He moves, but accidentally steps directly over the glass, having forgotten it was there.

A darker swear escapes his lips.

"Mr. Parker, I believe it would be in your best interests if you remained where you are." FRIDAY says patiently. "I'll alert Boss of the situation."

"Don't!" Peter pleads, twisting his foot up awkwardly so he can yank the decapitated Rudolf from his perch inside Peter's arch. "Please. He'll be mad."

"I have my doubts." FRIDAY argues, sounding almost exasperated. "He has a five-year-old daughter, Mr. Parker. This is hardly the first broken glass he's encountered."

But it's _Peter's_ fault, and Peter has to fix it. Matt is going to be so furious—

Peter moves his numb feet around the glass and dives for the pantry, ripping open the door. He locates the broom behind the door and yanks it off of the hook and grabs the dustpan. He moves back to the shattered pile of glass and tries not to be sick. First he ruins their Christmas by dragging them out to some shady Walmart in the middle of nowhere, then he sleeps the whole day away like a lazy bum, now he breaks their Christmas glasses.

"Mr. Parker, you're shaking." FRIDAY says quietly. "Are you cold?"

No. Yes. Maybe. He doesn't feel quite right. Detached from his body in a way that doesn't feel natural. Like Peter.exe. has stopped working and he needs to reload the computer or restart the program. But there's something fundamentally wrong with the code, so it won't help—

The dustpan lands on the floor with a clatter and he flinches, snapping back to the present. His left hand tightens around the broom like a weapon, and he forces himself to calm down. His hand trembles around the handle, but he moves methodically, awkwardly maneuvering the tool with one hand as he sweeps the glass away from the island and the oven. His fingers are aching.

He gathers as much as he can into the dustpan and then tips it into the trash, repeating the process twice before there's no evidence of his mistake. Well, no evidence except the blood smeared across the tiles. He blinks at it.

"Whose blood is that?" he whispers.

"Yours, Mr. Parker," FRIDAY answers. She seems confused and concerned at once.

Peter shakes his head, "But I'm not bleeding." He protests. He looks down at his feet and sees that his black socks are sticking to his feet. He moves back against the counter and, with a shaking left hand, slowly pulls the sock off of his foot. The skin is a mess of blood and little tingles of glass clatter to the floor.

"Oh." Peter says quietly. "That's my blood, isn't it?"

"Yes." FRIDAY agrees. "Mr. Parker, as per protocol, I am required to let Mr. Stark know when you have been injured. If you will remain where you are, I can send him your way and—"

"No." Peter protests, shaking his head. He doesn't want Mr. Stark to _see._ He's...it's...he broke the glass. The magic Christmas glass and decapitated Rudolf. "I'll find him. Would that...would that work?" His throat is still parched. He wants to be sick.

FRIDAY hesitates. "Yes."

Peter moves for the elevator, one bloody sock in hand. Distantly, he's aware he should clean up the blood all over Tony's kitchen, but he can't get himself to. He doesn't feel right. His body is tipped like he's been pushed underwater and now he can't tell what way's up.

It's…

Almost like...

Like vertigo.

000o000

Peter staggers into the communal room and scarcely has time to take a brief look around the room before a small body rams into him, hands wrapping around his waist. A "oof" noise slips through his lips in surprise. He looks down at Morgan who shifts some to smile brightly up at him with wide brown eyes.

"Peter!" she exclaims happily. "You're not dead."

"I'm not," Peter says, but he sounds more surprised than anything else. He bites on his lip heavily, but Morgan's brow is furrowing as she looks up at him. She pulls back slightly to take him in completely and her eyes linger on his sling.

There's an understanding there that makes Peter uncomfortable, but she doesn't say anything about his arm. "I told Lila that my brother would be here," she declares, hands on her hips, "she didn't believe me. But I was right."

Brother.

Peter feels himself blanch.

_Brother?_

But for that to be the case, Tony would have to be his _parent_ and...that's...no. No. It's not like he doesn't _want_ that, but it's not. It's not what it is. It can't be. Peter has to go back to Matt and May's apartment eventually. They're his guardians. Tony's...not. As much as he would like to pretend otherwise, he's stuck with Matt and May. Eighteen has never felt so far away.

"I'm not your brother." Peter says. His voice is still hoarse. He doesn't trust himself to get water. He'll just break another glass and remove something else's head.

Morgan's hand reaches up but she stops and then looks at him. "Why are you holding a sock?"

He beheaded Rudolf. That's why.

Peter looks down at the sock for a moment and then up when he hears someone moving towards them. Tony. The Avengers are sitting on the couches in the lounge area, plates in hand. There's no table, but Peter isn't very surprised. He can see Steve, Rhodey and Natasha sitting next to each other, the Barton family crammed into one of the couches with Ms. Maximoff, Falcon and Sergeant Barnes squished on the other end. Thor and Loki appear to have forgone any social norms and are seated on the coffee table. The rest of the Avengers aren't facing him, seated on the couch facing the far wall.

"Hey," Tony's voice snaps him to the present and Peter looks away from the group, snapping his attention up to the multi-billionaire. "I didn't know you were up. You doing alright? You look kinda pale."

"Why is your face bruised?" Peter questions softly. It looks like someone took a swing at him without restraint. Tony's hand lifts up towards the area and winces when he touches it. His lips press together for a moment and he offers a strained smile.

"Christmas present from Nat."

"She punched you?" Peter asks dubiously.

Tony shrugs. "Something like that. You're swaying. Little Miss," he addresses his daughter, "why don't you go finish dinner?"

Morgan pouts, folding her arms across her chest. "I want to talk to Peter, Daddy."

It's Christmas. Christmas is a happy holiday. People get together. They don't drag each other out to Walmarts and impose on the previously arranged celebration. Peter did that. He actually _did_ that. Oh, gosh, he _doesn't want to talk to Tony._ Tony is going to bring up Matt and Peter is only going to cry again because he's pathetic.

Tony is going to say when he'll have to go.

Because Peter can't _stay._

"I'm bleeding." Peter whispers, refusing to look at Morgan. Tony's expression flares with some alarm and he reaches out a hand to rest against Peter's shoulder, but Peter flinches violently back from him. Tony's hand snaps back like Peter yelled and hissed, breathing fire at his face.

Peter bites his lip, ashamed, and looks away. It's just Tony. It's not... _it's just Tony._

"Okay," Tony's voice is even. "Let me get Bruce. We can deal with this first and then some food. Alright?"

No. Peter doesn't want to deal with anyone. Why did he think that getting up was a good idea? He shouldn't have called. It would have been better for everyone. Then he could have gone back to Matt and May's and...and what? Pretend that the stairs never happened? That Matt doesn't hate him? _What?_

Tony must take Peter's lack of a response as a yes, because he turns and shouts, "Bruce!" into the open air. Peter winces, but feels every pair of eyes in the room slide up and linger on them. The attention makes something in his stomach drop, a hollow sort of dread sinking into every crevice. He can't...they can't...

_Stop staring._

Peter grips his sock harder. The room has gone quiet, studying him. Peter thinks he might be sick.

Bruce looks back once before he makes a slight "ah" noise, setting down a plate and standing up. Peter feels his stomach give a slight lurch, but Tony jerks his head for Peter to follow. Peter does so with reluctance, his feet still numb and tingling.

Bruce catches pace with Tony easily and glances back at Peter for a second, eyeing the sock with confusion. They're moving near the counter, towards the other door that leads out into the opposing hall. Tony's goal is clearly just to get them outside of the room, and Peter can't say that he's arguing with that fact.

The three of them exit the communal room and once the door has lapsed shut, Tony and Bruce turn to him expectantly. Peter has the sudden, strange desire to stuff the bloody sock into his mouth and run down the hall screaming.

Peter stares at them with wide eyes, but his mouth doesn't want to move.

Tony and Bruce stare at him, waiting.

Back and forth they go.

"Glass." Peter manages to squeak out. He sounds like he was nearly strangled to death. "I dropped." Why can't he say something right? A full sentence. _Something?_ It's like his voice was taken captive the moment Matt shoved him. Maybe when his arm snapped. Or later, when Tony was trying to talk to him about what happened.

_Tony knows._

"You dropped something made of glass?" Tony interprets. Peter nods. Tony shares a glance with his teammate before moving towards one of the doors and shoving it open. He gestures for them to move inside and Peter follows, seeing that it's some sort of office. Tony moves inside first and, after a minute or so, Peter is seated on a hastily cleared desk and balancing one leg over his knee as Bruce studies the cuts on his foot. Tony runs to the nearest bathroom to grab a first-aid kit and once it's opened and the equipment is spread out next to Peter, Bruce pushes his glasses up his nose and tilts Peter's foot back and forth in the lighting.

Peter can't feel Bruce's fingers on his feet. He watches as Bruce cleans the injuries and dresses them, but Peter doesn't say a word. Tony doesn't really talk, either. Bruce cleans the wounds and they sit in silence.

It makes him uncomfortable.

He breathes. Out, in.

The minutes drag.

"Where did you break glass?" Tony asks at last. Peter sees Bruce's eyes jolt up to the man as if surprised he broke the silence. Peter picks at the edge of his shirt, bunching it up between his fingers before letting it go. He tries a few times before managing to get a few words out.

"I decapitated Rudolf." He whispers. He looks down at the ground. He feels... _small._

"You…" Tony repeats. "You decapitated...what?"

"Clean down the neck." Peter continues as if Tony hadn't said a word. "I didn't mean to...I just wanted water." His voice drops further, barely audible.

He sees a hand from the corner of his eye and flinches back from it, nearly toppling backwards onto the desk. Tony draws his arm back again, face tight like he's been struck. Peter's lips press together, but he sees as Bruce freezes in the edge of his vision, hands stilling. The doctor stares at Peter and then Tony back and forth before he exhales sharply.

When he opens his eyes, there's the briefest flare of green.

Hulk.

Peter did something to—

" _Argon."_ Bruce seethes the word between his teeth like it's poison.

Peter nearly vomits. _He knows, too!?_ Does _everyone!?_

Bruce turns sharply as if heading for the door, but Peter jerks a hand out and grabs his wrist. Bruce stops, looking back at him.

"Don't hurt him. Please," Peter breathes. " _Please."_

Bruce's jaw is tight, but he glances once at Tony, taut and silent before jerking his wrist from Peter's grip. When he speaks, it's through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to kill him. I was going to get you some water. Don't move yet. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Bruce leaves the room, but looks like he's having a hard time not slamming the door shut. Peter wraps his arm around his stomach and tries not to be sick. If he'd known what saying anything would _do..._ he would have kept his mouth shut. He just wanted...he just _wanted_ and…it, like everything else lately, blew up in his face.

He needs to go back to Matt and May's. He has to go _now._ Before he does or says something else to make it worse. Peter was just being dramatic. If he'd just...he can't stay here. He's making everything worse because he's overreacting to everything. Yeah, Matt shoved him, but did he _really_ expect that Peter's arm would break?

And May is pregnant, but is her ignoring him anything _new_ now?

He can't let anything happen. Not anything worse than what already _has._

He hates this. Peter hates this so much he thinks that his insides are _rotting._ Withering. He can't handle this anymore. All he wants for Christmas is a headstone with _Peter Benjamin Parker_ written down the front. He can't handle this. And no one else in his life will, either. All they'll want to do is be violent and break some bones.

But that isn't going to _fix_ anything. Not long-term. And Peter is tired of bandaids.

He has to go back. He can't stay here. He _can't._ For the sake of keeping everyone out of prison. (And it wasn't that bad. It really wasn't.) The thought makes him sick, but his resolve is settling and now there's nothing—

"Peter," Tony's voice is quiet.

Peter doesn't look at him. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

_I can't tell what way is up._

"For what?" Tony stays where he is, but Peter can tell that he wants to reach out and touch his shoulder. Tony's always been physically affectionate. And Peter's made a mess of that, too.

"It's Christmas," Peter answers cryptically. "I ruined it. I should've…" _waited until tomorrow. Not called._ He keeps those last ones to himself. If he hadn't called, maybe the hypothermia actually would have killed him. That would have been nice.

_Peter. Stop it._

Tony sighs, "Peter," he shakes his head, "you didn't impose. Honestly, the background aside, I'm glad that you're here. Saved me having to deal with Christmas day traffic. I was going to pay a surprise visit, so, yeah. At least I get you for the whole day now. And you didn't ruin my Christmas. It's Christmas. I hate Christmas. I would be an actual Scrooge if Pepper let me."

The words are meant to be reassuring, but Peter's so numb that they feel flat. Meaningless. Like they would warm the heart of a teen who died five years ago on Titan, but not the half-dead thing that crawled it's way through these last few months. ( _A headstone. Please, someone give him a_ —)

"I decapitated Rudolf." Peter whispers.

"The...glass?" Tony questions. "You broke a glass?"

Peter nods, refusing to look at his face. "It dropped. I'm sorry."

Tony sighs again. "I'm not angry, Peter. Honestly. It's a glass. Probably from Dollar Tree. Clint is a skinflint, alright? I'm pretty sure that set came from him anyway. And you didn't actually kill anything. It was just a glass."

But it _isn't_ about the glass.

The glass is just...there.

More silence stretches between them. Once, Peter would have been able to fill it easily, but he doesn't know what to say anymore. He doesn't know what would matter.

"Look," Tony's voice has dropped to something more serious, "I know that you want to skirt around the reason you're here"—Peter flinches, dropping his gaze lower—"but we _need_ to discuss M&M at some point, alright? But _not_ today. It's Christmas and you're exhausted. We can talk tomorrow...Peter, look at me."

He does, but he can't hold the stare for long. The attention is making his skin crawl.

" _We_ will handle this. I promise. In a way that is perfectly legal. No one is going to be murdering anyone anytime soon."

"You told them." Peter mumbles. He looks up. "Why did you tell them?"

Tony's lips press together and he shakes his head slightly. "Peter, I _didn't._ Not all of them. If you're imagining some sort of group meeting with notepads and everything, yeah, no. I told them you were going to be staying for a few days. I only told Pepper and Nat. I wanted to wait until I had your permission before explaining to everyone first."

Peter buries his head in his left hand. His dark bangs brush against his fingers. It feels gross. He can't remember the last time he showered.

If they don't know, then Peter has time to leave before he has the entire Avengers team bullied up against Matt. It's _not that bad._ They're making it worse than it was. Any semblance of control that he'd grasped around this entire idea was swept away the moment he stepped into instacare a few hours ago.

_Was that today?_

"Do you hate me?" he asks softly.

"What? No. Peter, why would I...no. No." Tony shakes his head several times, as if the very words are ridiculous. "No. You're my kid."

"I'm not your child." Peter mutters. He's _no one's_ child. Not May's. Not his parent's. He is the son of no one. Alone. He has to go back, so he can stop invading Tony's life and forcing himself into a position that Tony doesn't _want_ to give…

(Peter is exhausted.

He doesn't want to deal with this.

He wants to be dead.)

000o000

Peter is declared well enough to stand by Bruce a few minutes later and, after water is forced down his throat and he's given a plastic water bottle to carry because Bruce is _"eighty-three percent sure you're dehydrated"_ , is guided back into the communal room. Tony pulls a chair away from the dining table next to the kitchen and sets it down next to a couch, shoving Peter onto it.

The eyes are on him again, but conversation doesn't lapse this time and Peter can only grip his knee and dig his nails to bone as Tony goes to get him a plate of the food. Bruce takes his seat on the couch again, but the plate of food goes untouched. There's something coiled in the gamma-radiation expert's shoulders as he scowls into the floor, clearly not nearly as okay as he professed to be.

If _he's_ the reason for a Hulk-out…

(It's not that bad. Will everyone _stop_ making it that bad?)

When Tony hands him the food and takes the seat next to him, Peter can barely manage a few bites, shuffling the food around the plate on a journey that doesn't seem to end. He's not hungry, even though he felt like his stomach was going to cave in when he woke up. For the most part, his presence doesn't seem to be a bother in the festivities much. He only exchanges a few words with some of the Avengers, but otherwise he remains an observer.

When the food is put away and plates cleaned up, Cooper manages to wrangle about half of the Avengers into playing Uno with him, and Peter can see that everyone is cheating. Especially Clint. And Thor keeps dropping cards on the floor. Peter knows that it's on purpose, because Loki will subtly pick up the card and pocket it. Peter didn't peg the Asgardian king as a cheater, but apparently the competitive part of him refuses to be appeased.

After watching Peter's confusion, Tony explains, "It's anarchy," he says flatly, "I've never seen them play an honest game before. It's kind of a running joke now. Everyone cheats. It's standard practice."

Oh.

Peter gnaws on his inner lip, weighing the words in his head for minutes before he finally turns towards the multi-billionaire and questions softly, "Can I borrow your phone? I want to wish MJ and Ned a merry Christmas, but my phone is…"

In his room. Sitting on his floor, attached to a charger. No. That's not right. He's grounded, right? Because he was a half hour late to work a few days ago. So it's probably in Matt and May's room, on their desk. And dead. Because he'd needed to charge it.

(Ned hates him. Peter finally did something stupid enough to lose the friendship he's had since second grade.)

Tony nods, already moving to pull the device from his pocket. "Yeah. Here," he hands it to Peter without a second thought and Peter nods, his stomach cramping with guilt. Tony's being so nice to him. Unnecessarily nice. And Peter's using him.

"Can I call?" His voice is less hoarse now, but it isn't loud.

Tony eyes him for a moment, seeming suspicions and Peter's entire body freezes. But whatever thoughts are crossing through the multi-billionaire's head apparently don't have anything to do with Peter's deception. "Yeah." He answers after a moment. "Don't talk all night."

If it had been before, Peter probably would have made a snippy retort in response. Now he only nods and gets up to his feet, Tony's device cold in his touch. His numb, cut feet give slightly when he puts weight on them, but Tony grabs at his arm to steady him, expression furrowed with concern. He's already halfway standing, as if prepared to catch Peter entirely if he's going to finish the journey to the floor.

Peter's entire arm burns beneath the contact, but he forces his arm to relax instead of jerk free and bash Tony's skull in. "I'm okay," Peter promises, "just stood up too fast."

_Liar._

Liar, liar, liar.

Tony eyes him further, but nods, letting him go. Peter nods his thanks and moves towards a less-occupied spot of the room, lifting the phone up. He catches Pepper's eye for a moment and notices for the first time that both Tony and Pepper have hardly stopped staring at him since he stepped into the room. He doesn't know what it means, and doesn't want to think about it. Lila lets out a shout of frustration as Clint manages to prevent her from leaving the game _again_ , and Morgan giggles loudly. His brain is filled up with so much sensory detail, there's hardly room for thinking.

He shakes his head, turning his gaze down and trying to ignore Pepper's stare on his back. Tony has mercifully glanced away to say something to Steve.

Guilt squirms in his gut about the lies, but he shakes it off. This is more important. He can't let this get any more out of hand than it is.

Still. It...

His fingers tremble as he dials May's number, hesitating over the _call_ button for a long moment. He wants to talk to her about as much as he wants to eat his own foot. What if she's upset? What if she's _angry?_ What if… _what if..._

No. He's already this far. And she needs to know. So she won't call the police.

Peter presses dial and then lifts the phone to his ear. He raises his eyes up for a moment, feeling like alarm bells are going to start whirring and people scream, pointing fingers at him. No one banned him from talking to his legal guardian, not explicitly, but it feels like it was implied that he'd never contact his aunt again after he called Tony.

He bites on his lip harder. He tastes blood.

The phone rings a few more times before it's answered and the high, worried voice of his aunt speaks over the line. " _Stark? Why are you calling me? Did you find Peter? Please tell me that you found my kid, I haven't seen him for two days, Stark!_ Two! _I'm at my end, I'm going to call the police and I swear that if—"_

"May," Peter interrupts, keeping his voice down.

" _Peter!? Where are you!? Are you with Stark?"_ Her voice, clouded with worry, trades the emotion for relief and rage.

"Yes." Peter says. He forces out a breath and then adds, "I didn't want to...I didn't want to go back to the apartment. May, Matt—"

" _I know what he did._ " May interrupts. " _He told me. He feels awful about it, Peter. How could you have run off and not told us where you were going!? We're your parents, Peter Benjamin Parker! Is this some sort of joke to you? If you'd been hurt, or died out there, that could get reflected back on us."_

His chest aches like he got hit. "He broke my arm, May," he tries to explain. The sling is rubbing against his neck, a reminder of what happened. That it wasn't some sort of mystical dream.

" _He didn't!"_ May argues, " _He didn't think you would actually fall. You need to talk to him"—_ no. No! _No!—_ " _he'll tell you. Peter, I can't believe you did this to us. Why did you call_ Stark _before us? Where were you? Have you been there this whole time and didn't bother to tell me until now!? I have spent these last few days worrying my hair gray, and you've—"_

"I only called Tony about fourteen hours ago." Peter answers, deciding to opt out the fact that everything before that was spent on the streets. "I was asleep for most of it."

" _You need to come home. Now. We need to talk this out like a family. Because what happened is between us. There's no need to drag Stark into this. Come home, Peter."_ Her voice is impatient now. " _You shouldn't be there."_

He knows that. He doesn't need her to _say_ that.

He slumps. "I don't have money. Even if I get a cab, it will be hours before I get to the apartment in this traffic."

" _Tell them that we'll pay."_ May snips impatiently. There's another voice on the other side of the line now, male, and Peter feels his face blanch as he recognizes the deep baritone of Matt. He can handle May. He's been living with May since he was a child. But Matt. Matt is so many _unknowns._

And it. It doesn't. Peter can't do it. Not really. Not like he's supposed to be. Some hero he is. Afraid of one man he didn't defend himself against.

The phone shuffles slightly before Matt's voice snaps, " _You're with Stark?"_

"...Yes." Peter answers hesitantly. In the sling, his fingers grip at the edge of the cast desperately. He rocks his weight forward. His body is going numb. He thinks he's trembling, but he can hear it over the roar in his ears.

" _Do you even know what you did to May? My wife? Who told you it was a good idea to run off?"_

Peter swallows. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. But he has to go back at some point. No one ever said he could stay here. "You broke my arm." He whispers.

There's silence on the other side of the line for a moment before Matt says, lowly, " _You're supposed to be some great hero, aren't you? I didn't think that you'd actually tumble that badly. And I don't care what May said, she doesn't deserve to deal with someone like you, least of all with a baby on the way. You're not welcome in my apartment. You try and come back and I'll throw you out."_

Peter feels his face drain of any remaining color.

His lips part, but no sound comes out.

Matt just…

_Peter has nowhere to go now. Peter has nowhere to go. Peter can't go back. Peter can't—_

He thinks he hears May making some sort of protest on the other end of the line, but she could be just as much praising Matt for all he can hear. "Please," he manages to croak. "I'll do better. Please, don't do this. Please…"

" _You've made your bed, Parker, now you have to sleep in it. You chose to leave us when you ran away. If you don't want to be here that badly, you can stay away."_ Matt sneers. " _I meant it when I said I don't want to see you again."_

What is so _wrong_ with Peter that everyone rejects him?

( _Please help. Please. He can't—)_

He didn't realize that he was sobbing until a hand plucks the device from his hand and lifts it up to their ear. Peter looks at Pepper with wide eyes, breath escaping him hard and fast. The CEO's expression is cool, but even barefoot and in causal clothing she wouldn't be caught dead in public with, she looks every inch a murderous mother bear.

"Who is this?" she questions, voice even.

Peter panics. He lunches for the device, but Pepper twists away from his grip and Peter goes crumpling to the floor on broken feet. His knees smack against the carpet. He can't see through his blurred vision and he can't _breathe._

Matt must say something because Pepper's expression darkens abruptly. His hearing, normally so intense is swallowed by the sound of his hammering heart and gasping breaths.

"Hmm." Pepper murmurs, kneeling down next to Peter. She doesn't try to touch him, though he sees her hand twitch like she wants to. "You really believe that?" Pepper questions, and Peter hears Matt shout something angrily on the other line and then she laughs darkly. "Trust me. I have every intention of doing so. And Argon," her voice is silk, "I wouldn't rest easy tonight if I were you. Merry Christmas."

She hangs up. Sets the phone down on the ground and tries to reach out for him, but Peter draws back, unable to stop _crying._ He feels like a weeping child, but he doesn't _want_ to be okay. He wants everything to be a mess, because at least then it would reflect what he is inside.

That happened.

He can't…

_What is he supposed to do?_

A warm hand—Tony, a distant part of him registers—touches at Peter's back and Peter doesn't pull away. Too exhausted. Too dead.

Reassured, a second hand reaches out and cups the side of Peter's face. His head is slowly tilted up to view Tony squatted in front of him. Pepper is beside him, her expression creased with worry. "Oh, Peter," Pepper sighs quietly.

He trembles, wanting to cry out, but remain silent all the same. Mostly he just wants to _stop._

Tony's fingers are rough against his skin, but a reassuring weight. After a long moment, Tony says in a voice that is so even it's toneless, "That wasn't MJ or Ned, was it?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, but for real. I kind of feel like this quote from Lord of the Rings describes my life recently: "A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins! Neither is early. He arrives precisely when he means to." But instead of a "wizard" it's more like, "Galaxy is never late, fanfiction readers!...they update preciously when they mean to."
> 
> But, y'know.
> 
> Late.
> 
> :)
> 
> Thanks so, so much for your support! If you're comfortable with it, I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Next chapter: February 21st, 28th, or sometime in-between that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support! You're all awesome. Seriously. :) Now we can all suffer though another chapter again.
> 
> Warnings: Discussion of child abuse, death-idolization thoughts, panic attacks.

* * *

Peter shakes his head to Tony's question, trembling. "I had to." Peter cries, "I couldn't…" He doesn't even know where to begin to explain. He couldn't let Tony get arrested? He couldn't let anything happen to them? He couldn't let Tony do something he'd regret, and if Peter was out of the way, out of sight, then maybe Tony would remember that he's supposed to be saving people?

_Everyone but Peter._

His vision is blurring, and he can't take in deep breaths. This, Peter realizes after a moment, is panic. Raw and untamed, clawing at his chest and squeezing his lungs. It's a noose. One that he can't escape even when his feet scramble for purchase.

"You—you can't…" Peter tries again. He lifts his head up to look at Tony's face again, but it's a lost cause. His vision isn't focusing enough to let it be of any help and Peter chokes on another sob.

"Pete," Tony's voice is calm. Calmer than it should be. Peter did something wrong and Tony should be _angry,_ not trying to meditate. "You need to breathe. I'm not angry. You _need_ to breathe."

He doesn't _want_ to breathe. Let him suffocate. Let it be _over._

"Breathe, Peter."

Peter gasps in a little ragged thing, but doesn't try too hard to make it hold. His body is reacting, attempting to suck in gasping breaths to compensate for the air he's lacking. But it's only a biological need for survival. Not Peter's desire to live.

"Tony," Pepper says softly, "we should get him downstairs."

Peter feels his face drain of color when he remembers where he is. He's in the communal room. The penthouse. It's Christmas. They're celebrating. There are _people_ here. People _looking_ at him. Watching him fall apart into nothing but a childish mess. _They know._

Peter managed to make a mess of this, too. The decapitation, the early morning, the _party,_ is there a part of this stupid holiday that Peter wont ruin for everyone?

_People are staring._

_Peter is still crying._

Peter feels the moment that his hand gives out, a sort of twisting jerk of muscle as if his brain has given up just as much as Peter has, and he almost goes crumpling to the floor face-first, adding a bruised nose the list of injuries. But before that can become a reality, strong hands wrap around his front and push him backwards slightly, until there's a hand against his back—hard, metallic, almost—and beneath his knees and then Peter is being hefted into the air.

Peter makes a noise between a startled yelp and a moan, squeezing his eyes shut. Tony just picked him up. He's being _carried_ like a fussy three-year-old who won't stop screaming about petty injustices. Peter attempts to make a struggle to escape the warm hands, but Tony's grip doesn't falter.

"It's okay, kid," Tony whispers, "just hold still for a little."

He wants to scream.

Instead, he turns his head towards Tony's chest and buries himself against it, hiding his tears inside of Tony's shirt. It smells like Tony, and this only makes him cry harder because May hasn't smelled normal since before the Snap. And Matt has that stupid cologne he thinks its attractive but only gives Peter a headache.

Peter's shoulder is twisted at an awkward angle, but the discomfort doesn't really register with his mind. Like all his nerves have been slowed. Or simply don't see the point of carrying the single all the way to his mind. Too much work. A lot of things are too much.

Peter doesn't really remember the trek from the communal room to the guest bedroom on Tony's floor. He can vaguely remember someone talking to him, and Pepper's hand on his hair, but then Tony's starting to set him down on the bed and Peter _doesn't want that._ It's a strange sort of abrupt _need_ that startles Peter deeply, but he can't stop himself from reaching out desperately towards Tony with his left hand. His right is still tucked close to his stomach, numb inside the confines of the sling.

"Please—" his voice sounds shaky and congested through the tears. "Please don't go. Please don't leave me alone anymore. Dad, please—" He bites on his tongue to stop himself, embarrassed. He's almost seventeen. He shouldn't _need_ comfort like this. He shouldn't even want it. May said he was too old for this when he tried after the nightmare and Matt—

_Did he just call Tony "dad"!?_

Peter's face loses any remaining blood. More tears slip down his cheeks and he bites harder on his tongue to stop himself from crying. It's almost like since he started he won't stop. He can't cry forever. He doesn't have _time_ to be upset. He has to fix the problem with Matt and May, he has to. _..has to..._

"Hey." Tony's voice cuts through the fog. Peter blinks to focus his eyes and realizes that he's still gripping Tony's shirt, forcing the man to bend over awkwardly since he's already set Peter down on the mattress.

He called him dad.

Tony must has no idea what to do.

Peter is mortified.

"Hey, I won't go anywhere. See? I'll prove it. Roll onto your side," Tony instructs. Peter remains frozen on his back, hand gripping tighter against Tony's shirt, refusing to let the bunched up fabric go as sudden terror washes through him. Behind the Avenger, he can see Pepper standing beside the closed door, her expression one Peter can't read.

If he rolls over, his back will be to Tony and Pepper and they'll leave him here, alone.

And—

_And then—_

_And_ Peter doesn't know if he can do this anymore. He wants to stop. He wants this to _stop._ He can't keep pushing. He's been pulled tight and there is no release of the energy, only a collapse. _He wants to be dead. He can't keep pushing. He can't—he can't—_ and they're going to leave him here alone with the thoughts and—

Tony awkwardly maneuvers himself onto the mattress beside Peter and carefully pulls Peter's fingers away from his shirt. Peter still can't stop sobbing like he's dying. Or mortally wounded. When Peter's fingers are released, Peter's sobs turn to gasping hiccups.

_They're going to leave!_

"Please…" he begs. "Please don't…"

Tony carefully pushes his rigid body onto his left side, keeping the broken hand from being squished by Peter's meager body weight and then—

Peter's breath catches for a second, and he doesn't exhale for several long moments. Tony wraps his arms around Peter in a weird sort-of-hug and rests his chin against the top of Peter's head. Peter's back is pushed against Tony's warm chest, his body locked inside the embrace. Peter's left hand wiggles awkwardly from beneath him before he manages to catch one of Tony's knuckles and keeps it there, gripping tightly onto the hand.

Peter doesn't...he doesn't know if he's ever been...this...

He's still crying. He's still sobbing. He's still acting like a three-year-old with no control over their temperament. But Tony is holding him.

The light flickers off, and Peter inhales sharply, but it's only for a moment before the desk light, behind him, flickers on providing a much softer lighting. Footsteps shuffle across the room, Pepper's, and one of the lighter throw blankets is gently pulled over them, up to Peter's shoulders. Pepper takes a seat at the head of the bed, and Peter releases Tony's hand to reach for her. She clasps his hand between both of hers and begins to rub her thumb across his knuckles.

Tony is whispering words to him, Peter can't even register what it is, but the sound is something to focus on beyond his chaotic head.

Beyond the words that are trying to kill him.

His sobs slowly ease to tears before they're nothing but the occasional hiccup. And neither Pepper nor Tony move. Even before Matt, if Peter ever got in a state like this, May would always assume that the end of tears meant the end of troubles and leave him to it. Ben, even as much as Peter misses and loved him, was much the same.

Peter feels the tension start to bleed from his body.

Tony and Pepper keep talking. Mindless things. Old business stories, Avenger disasters, and, finally, a story about Morgan getting sick when she was two. Peter feels himself start to tighten again as he thinks about the stupid party and Morgan, and how he's keeping her parents from her and she's going to be upset, and then—

"Peter," Tony's voice is close. "Just sleep. It's okay. Just sleep."

He doesn't _want_ to sleep. Bad things—

"Shh," Tony soothes, and grips him a little tighter. "You're okay. I've got you. You can rest now."

But—

"Sleep."

And, after a time, Peter's eyes drift close and he does.

It doesn't last.

The bad days bring with them worse nightmares, and tonight is no exception. He dreams that he's on Titan again, but when Dr. Strange gives Thanos the Time Stone, the Titan takes the broken bit of shield he used to stab Tony with and lops of Tony's head instead of sparing him.

And then he leaves, and Peter is left with a corpse and the people begin to dust and there's no one left on Titan but him. He's alone. Alone to scream and mourn, but no one there to help him, and then Matt is shouting at him and May brushes past him as she gathers up a little girl in her arms and—

Peter jerks awake with a jolt. He's laying on his back. The room is dark and empty. He's piled beneath at least four blankets and still feels chilled to the bone. His body is aching in places he didn't know he _had,_ but he doesn't care. Peter scrambles up and off of the mattress towards the desk and fumbles with the lamp for a moment as he tries to remember how to turn it on. He manages, and the light immediately calms him.

Peter slumps in the desk chair, staring at the light bulb for several long minutes.

There wasn't electricity on Titan, not that Peter could see, but the lamp doesn't seem to be enough to remind him where he is. Peter shakes off the remnants of the panic, forcing himself to remain present instead of drifting off into his thoughts.

There's a calendar above the desk and Peter glances at it sourly. He never got the chance to really do much with it, but it says December and Peter glances towards the twenty-fifth. There, in two innocent words, is Christmas Day labeling it as an unremarkable holiday. As if Peter's entire life wasn't just thrown in a gutter and stomped on.

Peter considers tearing it down, but stops himself when his left hands brush against the paper. He squeezes his eyes shut. _Almost seventeen,_ he reminds himself. _You do not tear down calendars when you are mature._

Peter pulls his gaze away from the wall, moving to the clock.

It reads four-twenty-nine AM in bright red numbers. Peter sighs dejectedly. Too early to get up, but he doubts that he's going to go back to sleep. His hand ghosts towards his pocket where his phone would be, but stops. The only thing that he has is the clothing on his back. He didn't bring his phone, or even a book.

Peter tucks his feet up next to him on the chair and rests his chin on his knees. His feet are throbbing dully, reminding him of the glass incident and Peter almost hops up to his feet to see if it was cleaned, but stops himself. This is Tony and Pepper. Morgan lives here. They aren't going to leave glass—

Wait.

No.

Peter already cleaned it up. Just...not the blood. What do you even use to remove blood from the floor? Hydrogen peroxide? Bleach? Acid? Tony lives with Bruce. Bruce is a chemist. Bruce probably knows. He could probably make a cleaner—actually, scratch that. Tony lives with _assassins._ They probably know.

Peter shakes his head to rid himself of the thoughts and glances at the clock again. It hasn't even been a minute. His stomach growls in annoyance, reminding Peter that the meager meal of a few forkfuls of salad, an olive, and half a roll are not enough after nearly two days of nothing. "Shut up," Peter whispers to it, wrapping an arm around his waist like it will be enough to appease the beast.

His eyes feel dry.

His throat is dry, but Peter doesn't dare venture out to get water. Not after Rudolf. And everything else that followed.

000o000

It's a little past seven-thirty when there's a soft knock on the door. The wood is gently pushed open as if trying to make as little noise as possible and Tony pokes his head inside. He looks a little worn, but isn't avoiding Peter and his emotions like they are a plague to the very safety of his soul, which Peter was half expecting.

Peter glances up from the bed he's laying down on, confused as to what Tony's doing here. Peter isn't sick. Why is Tony checking on him? Did someone make breakfast? Peter didn't hear anything.

"You're up." Tony says, pushing the door open more and slipping inside. He closes the door and asks, "Did you sleep?"

"Sorta." Peter mumbles. "I woke up a little before five and have been awake since."

Tony nods, moving across the room and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. The bruise dotting his face looks a little darker today, but the swelling has gone down. Upon closer inspection, Peter can see the tired rings around Tony's eyes and how...rumpled he looks. Guilt squirms in his stomach. He feels like some sort of trap. That he _made_ Tony feel guilty for him and now Tony doesn't realize the deceptiveness of Peter's power and is locked here with him.

Peter waits for Tony to say something for last night. Peter thinks he should apologize, but the words get caught in his throat.

Tony's leg bounces a few times as if he's thinking before he nudges Peter's knee with his hand. "Get dressed and let's go get some breakfast. Do you need help with the sling?"

Peter shakes his head, slumping slightly. "Tony, all of my stuff is at the apartment. I probably have a pair of socks somewhere, but that's it."

Tony's brow furrows.

Peter sighs, running a hand through his hair. For some reason, this almost feels embarrassing. "When I was staying here over the summer, I brought stuff over. When you moved out of state, I packed everything. I don't...have a lot. I couldn't really leave any spares here."

The only reason he thinks he lost a pair of socks is because he hasn't seen the ones MJ got him as a joke for his sixteenth birthday since the summer and it's that he left it here or May donated it. She donated everything, actually. They had to buy a whole new wardrobe, but May wanted to cut expenses as much as she could—apparently the apartment's rent has gone up and she and Matt are skinflints—so Peter has about ten, maybe eleven shirts. That's about it.

And the rest of them are in the apartment.

Tony frowns. He glances Peter up and down for a moment, as if finally having realized something and is unhappy with it. "You can borrow some of my clothes. After food. Then you should probably clean up, too. I'll get Bruce to look at your arm later to see what we should do about the cast."

Peter sighs, resigned.

Tony stands up and offers his hand out to Peter. "Do you want cold cereal or stale muffins? I'd offer to make you something, but I can't remember the last time we stocked the kitchen and we haven't spent a lot of time down here."

Peter hesitates, sitting up, and then asks, "Have the muffins been sitting here since the last time you were in New York?"

Tony's eyes widen for a moment before he lets out a snort of laughter. "No. We brought them with us. Morgan is obsessed with the big ones," he lifts up his hands to approximate their size with his fingers, "and she insists that we need them every time we travel. Ergo…"

Peter hobbles up to his feet, wincing, and Tony immediately reaches out to steady him. Peter's back snaps upright at the physical touch and Tony draws his hand away. "Sorry." Peter mumbles, looking away from him.

"It's not your fault." Tony says, something strangely flat about his tone. Peter glances at him, but he doesn't look angry. At least, not with _Peter._

The two of them leave the room and Tony all but shoves Peter into a chair when they reach the kitchen-dining area. Pepper is already seated, nursing a cup of coffee and going over some paper documents. Assuming it's for Stark Industries, Peter ignores them, watching as Tony sets a box of muffins and a glass of water in front of Peter and gets a cup of coffee for himself.

Peter pokes at the tops of the various flavors until he finds one that still kind of soft and pulls it from the confines of the box. Peter awkwardly scoots the box away, biting hard on his inner lip when it squeaks.

No one comments.

Peter looks up from squishing bits of blueberry muffin between his fingers to Pepper and Tony. "Where's Morgan?" he asks, clearing his throat slightly.

Pepper looks up from the papers. "Oh. She's still asleep, I think. She wanted to stay with her cousins for a bit." Peter feels his face flicker with confusion, and Pepper appends quickly with a soft laugh, "The Bartons. Sorry. Sometimes I forget they aren't actually related."

Peter feels dread swim in his gut. He's not stupid. He knows what this means. They wanted to have a conversation with Peter, alone, with no possibility of Morgan overhearing so they left her in the care of Clint and Laura. Are they going to kick him out now? After last night, Peter thought that maybe…

Maybe he'd get a few days, at least, before they got rid of him.

Tony sits down beside Pepper, and Peter immediately decides he doesn't like this. They're on one side of the table, Peter's on the other. He feels like he's in the principal's office, trying to explain, again, that he wasn't actually guilty of the crime they're accusing him. Peter rubs his fingers against the stained wooden tabletop and doesn't touch the muffin.

The smell of coffee is thick, and he looks up to see both adults watching him. Waiting.

After a tight breath, Peter stops his restless hand movements and offers, "I can leave now if you want. I know that it's really only a matter of time before you kick me out anyway, and I don't want to overstay my welcome, so I can get a cab if you'll pay and I'll pay you back later and—"

"Underoos." Tony interrupts. He's set the coffee down and looks like Peter slapped him. Peter stops, jaw snapping shut hard enough that his teeth clink. Pepper is shaking her head, her hands equally still.

After a long moment, Tony asks, "What do you mean _leave?"_

Peter's fist tightens into a fist. The skin over his knuckles stretches from how hard he's gripping. He looks away from the adults to the granite countertop beyond them. When he speaks, his voice feels impossibly small. "You know... _leave._ As in I'm not here anymore? Returning...returning to M&M's." The words make his gut clench.

He's still not looking at them. Tony says at length, as if he's trying to control his anger or his disbelief, "You're not _going_ back, Pete."

Peter's gaze snaps to him. He feels his jaw part with surprise and he blinks several times, unsure if he heard right. "I—I... _what?_ I—I have to...they're my guardians. No one said this was permanent."

No one gave any indication that it would be. Peter didn't...when he called Tony yesterday— _was it really only yesterday?—_ he'd just wanted somewhere to stay. Somewhere out of the cold where he could feel his feet and his fingers. Away from Matt. And May. And now...

Pepper smooths out the papers. She glances once at Tony before looking at Peter and offering a soft smile. For some reason, this doesn't reassure him. "It can be. If you want it to."

Peter stares at her.

His stomach cramps at the sudden desire of _want._

"What...what do you mean?" Peter manages to push out of his vocal cords. He grips the edge of his cast with his right hand, his leg beginning to bounce beneath the tabletop. Up and down, up and down...

"While your aunt may have been good for you in the past, I don't know if she's what you need right now, Peter." Pepper explains in a voice that's even, yet careful, and Peter is reminded once again why Tony chose her as his replacement for SI. "I know that this may be hard to hear, but I think the best option for your safety would be to remove you from her care."

_For his—_

Peter lurches to his feet. The chair grinds against the hardwood, nearly toppling at the sudden movement. Peter's jaw aches, and he stares at the two of them, something bitter on his tongue. "You can't...you can't _pull—_ I'm her nephew. I don't have a choice on whether or not I get to stay with her. And I don't even know why you'd be considering this as an option. Things haven't been that bad. Yeah, Matt sometimes says things, but I'm an idiot and clumsy and it doesn't matter and it—You don't pick your family, and she's mine."

He can't get pulled out of May's care. He can't even have _frustrations_ with her, let alone think that he needs to be put into _foster—_

No.

That's not going to happen. It won't. Peter...Peter will... _he'll..._

Tony shakes his head. "Peter, she can't take care of you the way you need right now. Not with Matt"—Tony's voice curls around the word as if it's a foul odor he needs to remove from his mouth—"living there. This doesn't have to be a permanent change. But for a few months, at least. Shared DNA does not always create an environment where you can be _alive."_

Alive.

As if the one that May has been providing hasn't been that way. ( _Has it?)_

As if—

"No. You're wrong!" Peter shouts. He can't remember the last time he yelled, and the volume of his voice surprises him. "She loves me. May wouldn't let you do this! It doesn't have to happen! I'm not going—you can't—she'll take care of me. Like she's always done. I don't have to be _removed—"_

"Peter, we don't have a choice." Tony's voice is losing its composure. A nasty part of Peter wants to sneer _good_ at its loss. Real emotions aren't fake. Peter is tired of _fake._ "You are being abused. We can't let you go back."

Peter rears back. "Ab—" he stops himself. He can't get the word _off_ of his tongue, but neither can he swallow it. It's heavy. It doesn't sound right. Like it belongs to someone else. A case where it's needed, where it's warranted, where someone is actually in trouble, and they're not just ramping things up to make it seem more dramatic.

The bruise around his elbow takes this moment to remind him of its presence, Matt's fingers ghosting around the area as he hauls Peter out of the dining room and grips him until he throws him out of the apartment to take the bag to the dumpster. And Peter had gone, his arm aching, but nothing serious.

And then he'd come back, and Matt had shoved him down the stairs.

But he was angry. With reason. Peter was...he had to open his big mouth.

People do irrational things when they are angry. Like shove each other. It was just a staircase. It's not like Matt tried to kill him. Not like other people have. Not like the Vulture. Or Thanos. Or street thugs with their blades. Matt was just...angry.

"Peter, sometimes people aren't who we think they were," Pepper interjects softly, "or who we want them to be, and that's _okay."_

"May's not—not like that." Peter lifts up his hand to his face to press the backs of his fingers against his mouth. He's not trying to block tears—he wept himself dry last night—but the horror of what they're saying makes him want to shield himself. To bite on something. His knuckles dig against his lips. "She's... _good."_

She just doesn't always see him. But that's okay. Sometimes other people are more important. ( _Like the baby?)_

Tony releases a long breath. "We're not questioning her character." Although something about Tony's tone suggests that maybe they _should,_ "And we're not trying to slander her. But I will _not_ allow you to go back to M&M's knowing what is going on. You are too important."

Peter doesn't know what to say to that. So he doesn't. "What if it's not as bad as you're thinking?" he challenges. "What if I'm making this entire thing up, and I don't need help? You haven't talked to them, have you? They'll—"

"We haven't because they wouldn't admit it!" Tony interrupts. "We have enough evidence to know. He broke your arm, Peter."

Peter remembers the doctor. Remembers him telling Peter to take photos of the bruises " _just in case"_ because Peter would confirm nor deny nothing except to clear Tony. Evidence. They need evidence, and the doctor thought that the print _was_ evidence, and Peter is bruised elsewhere from where Matt—

And—

_It's not abuse!_

Peter's shaking his head, backing up from the table. He still can't feel his toes. He's off balance, rocking. "No," he whispers. "May wouldn't let this happen. She wouldn't let him ab—" he can't say the word. Still can't. _Won't._ "—she wouldn't let Matt do that to me. Everyone has fights with their parents. I'm just...I'm just that."

Pepper's eyes are narrowed. "I agree that teens and their guardians can struggle to get along sometimes, but Peter, my parents never hit me. They never shoved me down a staircase. Honey, I don't want this to be your reality. Especially when we can do something about it."

Peter stills, biting at his knuckle.

Pepper sighs and rubs her forehead lightly, clearly worn.

"We discussed this for much of last night," Tony admits after a heavy silence. That explains the exhaustion. And the coffee. "And the only reason I'm telling you that is so you don't think that it was spur of the moment. But me and Pepper, if you want, would be more than willing to take legal guardianship of you. It's not safe for you to go back to M&M, Peter, but if you don't want to stay here—"

"I _do_ want that." Peter blurts and then looks away, ashamed. He bites on his fingers harder, trying to breathe. Matt doesn't want him to come back to the apartment anyway, but Peter is sure that May could convince him. May...May would _want_ him there, wouldn't she? She wouldn't let anything bad happen if she could stop it. Right?

But he can't…

He _can't…_

He needs to think. Away from people, away from everything. Peter stares at the other side of the table where the concerned faces of the two adults he trusts more than anyone else are staring back at him. He looks up at the kitchen and the room around them. He _wants_ this to be permanent. But it feels like betrayal to even consider _wanting_ to leave May. _Wanting_ it. Not just thinking it over like an idle thought, but _wanting._

She's not...she's not _evil._

"Can I have time to think about it?" Peter questions, feeling the fight deflate from him suddenly.

Tony nods. "Yes. Just...let us know when you come to a decision, okay?" The multi-billionaire scoots the muffin towards Peter. "And eat that. You're going to give Bruce a blood sugar related tangent to go off of if you don't."

Peter picks up the muffin. He feels like he should say thank you, but he doesn't want to _thank them_ for what they just said. For ripping what little rug he was balancing on and beating it brutally. Peter is fumbling. He's not standing up from this fall. He's going to be sick.

"I'm going to take a shower," Peter says after a long moment of silence. Pepper nods and clasps her drink with both hands, obviously trying to cling to a normal routine. Peter takes the muffin and stumbles down the hallway, opening the bathroom door and closing it just as quickly, leaning back against the wood. He flicks on the light before the darkness can begin to feast on him and stares dully forward.

He breathes heavily.

His heart pounds in his ears.

_Thump. Thud. Thump. Thud._

Out.

In.

_Thump._

Out.

In.

_Thud._

Things will never be normal again. Peter is not ever going to come home to an apartment of just him and May, where it will smell like hospital and cinnamon. Where Peter will sneak out and do a few rounds as Spider-Man. Where he can call Tony and they can have a good laugh about how rude some people were. Where Happy is waiting and the apartment doesn't feel like a looming prison.

Normal.

When Ned and MJ didn't hate him.

Before Thanos killed everyone.

Before...everything.

Peter throws the muffin away without eating anything. He clambers into the shower after wrestling with the sling and sticks his arm out awkwardly so he can stop the cast from getting wet. The water runs down his face, threatening to drown him, but only ever caressing. It stings against his bruises and digs into the cuts on his feet.

The handprint, among other bruises, is ugly and splotchy, but a testament to everything that Tony and Pepper said. It mocks him, laughing.

_Look at how your world has fallen apart, Peter Benjamin Parker._

000o000

"I need to go back to the apartment. To pack." Peter states blankly from the doorway into the lab a little over five hours later. Tony stops the fidgeting with the Iron Man gauntlet that he's doing and swivels around on the stool to face him, expression surprised.

"You're staying?" The hope and relief in his voice makes Peter both assured and wary all at once.

Peter gives a slight dip of his head. He clenches his fist inside the sling and bunches up the fabric of his jacket with his left. "I'm...I don't know if I want it to be permanent," he says carefully, slowly, as if he _hadn't_ just weaned himself off of a panic attack and has been thinking about what to say for hours. "But I'm not ready to face May...like that yet."

"You can stay as long as you need." Tony promises. He eyes Peter, apparently taking in details that Peter can't see because he plays with the wrench in his hands slightly. "Are you sure you want to do this? I can just send Happy."

And have him rifle through Peter's things? Yeah, no. Happy wouldn't know what Peter wanted to grab. Peter shakes his head. "No. I can do it. It's fine. I just…" Peter worries his lip between his teeth. "Need money for a cab."

Tony stops the motion with his hands. When Peter looks at his face, there's a fire in his eyes, but disbelief written in his pursed lips. "You can't seriously think that I'm letting you go by yourself."

Peter blinks, surprised. The thought of having someone come _with_ him was a nice delusion, but not reality. This would be when he would have called Ned. Or MJ. Or both. They would have conquered this beast together, but Peter doesn't have a phone, and he doesn't have Ned or MJ. "Um. Kinda?"

Tony rolls his eyes up, "You're such an idiot. No. I'm coming with you. I'm assuming you want to go now?"

_No. He can't go back. Ever. Not now, not in a million years._

Peter's stomach coils tightly enough that Peter thinks it might start cramping with anxiety. "If you're not busy...Yeah. The sooner the better."

Tony nods, setting down the wrench and waving away whatever holograms he was working with into FRIDAY's system. "'Kay. Let me get Thor."

"Thor?" Peter repeats, uncertain that he heard right. Tony's getting to his feet and Peter watches him, flabbergasted. "Why would you contact Thor?"

Tony grabs a jacket off of a bench and shrugs it on, looking up at Peter for a second. His mouth is rueful, but there's something dark in his gaze. "Because out of everyone I know whose close by right now, Thor is the least likely to _help_ me if I decide to do something stupid."

A babysitter. But not for Peter, but for _Tony._

Peter feels himself pale. His aching hand clenches by his side. "You mean to Matt."

Tony hesitates for a long second, as if he's debating on lying before he nods and sighs, "Yes, I mean to Matt."

"Don't hurt him." The words sound funny. Almost false. But they're not. And they are. Because Peter _knows_ that in a very deep, dark part of his stomach, he _doesn't_ want Matt to be protected. He wants to see Matt hurt and bloody and aching like Peter aches with a vindictive justice that will finally make the terror in his chest laugh and sneer that now they're _both_ broken, and it's Matt's fault. But Peter hates this part of himself, and is disgusted by even touching at the feeling.

He's supposed to be _good._

Spider-Man—

No. He flinches away from the name. ( _Spider-Man doesn't hurt people. That means Peter Parker can't, either.)_

Tony is looking at him. It's a contemplative gesture, like Peter has just said something confusing or sad. But he didn't. (Did he?) Peter knows that _before,_ this would be an instance when Tony would have rested his arm on Peter's shoulder, but Tony doesn't move. Peter feels strangely bitter about it. He's broken, and now they've—

_Stop it._

"Why don't you wait in the garage." Tony submits after a moment. "I'm going to go talk to Thor." He moves for the door to the lab and then stops, glancing back at him once. "Oh—um, Loki is probably going to come, too, because I swear those two are joined at the hip. You okay with that?"

Does he have a choice to _not_ be?

Peter nods numbly. He feels kind of sick.

Loki. Loki killed people. Loki tried to take over New York. Loki tried to kill Tony. And the rest of the Avengers. And he destroyed Asgard. And he almost killed Thor multiple times. And he helped them fight Thanos. And he saved Tony for Thor. And he...and…

And Peter is less afraid of him than he is Matt.

It takes Peter a long moment to realize that Tony never promised _not_ to hurt Matt. He evaded the question. But he didn't promise.

000o000

The drive is...Peter doesn't want to say awkward, but it isn't really pleasant. He just isn't in a talking mood, but everyone—sans Loki—seems intent on pulling him into a conversation. They probably think it will help to have a distraction, but Peter doesn't want to talk. He wants to...he doesn't know. He doesn't want to _be._ Thinking is too heavy, but he can't stop.

They arrive at the apartment.

Peter stares up at the towering building and thinks he might be sick to his stomach. _M &M paradise, _Tony's voice ghosts in his head from so many months ago. The running joke that seemed so hilarious to the multi-billionaire until a few days ago. The joke that Peter hated. The one that Ned used, when he…

He doesn't realize his hands are trembling until he tries to open the door and fails, stiff fingers incapable of movement. Thor and Loki have already exited, and Peter can see them standing outside, side by side, arms crossed. They look almost normal in their Earth clothes, but Peter can still sense the power radiating off of them, even behind the sealed door.

Why did he agree to let Tony bring people who were mistaken for _gods_ with them? Yeah, sure, Thor might be the least likely to help Tony commit a murder—and Peter struggles with that for a moment, because, yeah, he can see Clint and Natasha helping, they were _assassins,_ but Bruce and Steve? _Captain America?—_ but if Thor does get angry, all he has to do is flare his nostrils and Matt will go up in a puff of smoke.

"Hey," Tony's voice is soft. A weight lands on his shoulder and Peter's proud that he only startles, not yanks himself away. He looks up at Tony with wide eyes and Tony's expression tightens for a moment. "You don't have to do this, Pete. We can just go up and grab the stuff for you."

But the thought of them rifling through his things makes Peter uncomfortable. Privacy is, if anything, the one thing he was sort-of allowed to keep. It's not like he has anything to be ashamed of. Or embarrassed about. But it's kind of like having someone else pour you a bowl of cereal. They don't know the correct cereal-to-milk ratio and they might give you too much cereal or too little, or maybe they don't know that you like fruit at the bottom—

It just.

Peter has to go up.

"I'm okay," Peter whispers. His voice is small. Peter _feels_ small.

Tony looks doubtful.

Peter manages to get a good grip on the door handle and pulls the door open, stumbling out into the cold. It blasts into his face bitterly, momentarily making him wish he had on something thicker, but it hadn't even occurred to him to grab something warmer. And it's not like he _has_ anything warmer at the Tower anyway.

Tony gets out of the car behind Peter, slamming the door shut and locking the car. Thor glances once at Peter with a piercing stare that makes Peter uncomfortable. Peter saw Thor post the Snap. Saw what a mess he was. And now he looks _nothing_ like the drunk idiot who nearly got himself killed by alcohol poisoning. He's pulled himself together, and seems every inch an imposing king.

How much, if any, did Tony tell Thor about what happened? Is Peter going to open up those doors only to have Thor raze the entire building to the ground? Peter doesn't know Thor that well. They've spoken a few times and Peter has his number, but he's…

He kind of wishes it was Natasha, or Clint, or someone else he knows a little better, and he feels awful about it.

"Alright," Tony says, stomping towards them. "Let's get this over with. It must be two freakin' degrees out here."

But Peter has shoes this time. A pair of one of Tony's spare sneakers, but as long as his feet are contained with the warmth, Peter isn't going to complain. They still don't feel right, though. He can't center himself, and keeps rocking back and forth with his weight. Maybe...maybe there's something wrong with the tissue or nerves—

No.

He'll be fine come a few days. He has to be.

"Oh, a pity," Loki says, his tone clearly careless, "you might catch your death of cold out here in this weather, Stark. Whatever would we do?"

Tony sneers at him, jabbing a finger into the Asgardian's ribs. For a moment, Peter is afraid that Loki will react violently, but he doesn't, merely making a noise of agitation in his throat. "Prat."

"Please stop antagonizing my brother, Tony," Thor says pointedly and Tony rolls his eyes, moving forward. Peter takes a hobbling step, and nearly topples, but Tony grabs his elbow and keeps him steady. There's a silent question there, but Peter doesn't want to answer.

They move forward. Peter keeps his eyes pinned to the right so he won't see the stairs.

They take the elevator.

Peter's heart is still beating at his chest. It only gets louder the closer they grow to the apartment door. Peter's stomach hisses and squirms, a desperate attempt to get Peter to run. His adrenaline spikes, breath picking up speed. Time seems to slow as they take step after step.

_Thump. Thud. Thump._

He feels like he's marching into a warzone. Not going _home._ Because this is supposed to be his home. Not a prison. Not a punishment. Not...not everything it is now.

Tony knocks on the door. Peter doesn't have his key. Part of him silently hopes that May and Matt will have taken a spontaneous vacation to Hawaii and ignored their original plan of taking the week off and staying home.

No such luck.

He hears someone shuffling inside, footsteps growing closer to the door and then the lock twists, the knob turns and May stands there. She's dressed, wearing a plain shirt with a sweater pulled over her shoulders. Her dark hair is flowing down her back, glasses perched on the edge of her nose. Her face is plain, but clearly worried, and she's clenching the wood like she can relieve the pressure inside her head that way.

Peter's breath catches.

He doesn't know if he's relieved or horrified.

May's gaze goes first to Tony, as if she can't see him. "What are you doing here? Where's Pete…" she trails, her eyes shifting away from the Avenger to Peter and she stops. She stares at him for several long moments as if drinking in the sight of him before her gaze shifts to his arm, to the sling and the cast, and she releases a sharp exhale.

Her eyes immediately start water as she shakes her head in what looks like open horror.

"Peter," her voice is a choked gasp of tears. " _Peter,_ your arm…"

She moves as if she means to touch him, maybe hug him, and Peter draws away, taking a half step behind Tony as if he will hide him from her. Guilt slams into his stomach instantly as he sees the dejected, hurt look on May's face. She's staring at him as if she's seen a ghost. "Your _arm."_ She moans.

And Peter realizes something then. Something that both stings and explains everything. All her nasty words of yesterday. She didn't think that Matt _actually_ pushed him hard enough to break it. Like Peter made the whole thing up. _She didn't believe him._

More tears fall down her cheeks. She reaches for him. "Peter, baby, please...I didn't know. I didn't—"

Peter draws back further. He feels like he _has_ to return the affection, but he can't. Not now. She's hurt him. Is he allowed to admit that? Is he _allowed_ to not want to see her, or talk to her for a little bit? "I thought that you were exaggerating. I never thought that Matt would—would do—"

Tony grabs her shoulders and steers her back into the apartment. May gasps, clearly startled, but the action wasn't done with any intent to harm her.

"Peter, go get your things." Tony's voice is flat. Peter takes a hesitant step towards the doorway. Thor and Loki flank him, their powerful presence a strength he's sorely lacking.

"What?" May's face has drained of color. She looks from Tony to Peter, back and forth before the words seem to register and she wiggles from Tony's grip, her hands somehow suddenly on Peter's shoulders. He wants to hiss and shove her back, but he can't. His limbs are frozen, plaster beneath her fingers. "Peter, what is he talking about?"

Her gaze is so earnest. So intense. (She's noticed him.) So _fake._

"I'm going to stay with Tony for a while." Peter whispers, his hand clenching the edge of his jacket sleeve.

May looks close to shaking him. She's beginning to cry harder. "What are you talking about? Peter, you don't need to do that. We can make things work. Matt is sorry. It won't happen again, and, oh, baby, your arm is—" she reaches for the wound and Peter snaps back.

"Don't." His voice is hard. Her hand stills on its way towards the wound. More tears.

"Please, Peter, don't. We can make this work. Please—"

Maybe...she feels so awful. Maybe it would be better if he just—

"He's coming back with me." Tony's voice is final. He's standing behind May, hands crossed over his chest. "It's not safe for him here."

"Not—" May releases him, whirling to face the Avenger. "Peter is safer here than he ever will be with you! You get everyone you know almost killed or _killed_ and I can't let that happen to Peter." Her voice wobbles, "He's like a son to me."

The guilt grows stronger.

Tony's tone is ice. "Then _act_ like it, Mrs. Argon. Get off your butt and prioritize him."

May chokes. "I _do—"_

"No, you don't." Tony interrupts. He flicks a hand out towards the couch. "So sit down and shut up. I'm this close to doing something stupid." Tony lifts up his fingers, thumb and pointer pushed together without a sliver of space between them.

May releases another sob, looking back at him. "Please don't do this Peter. Don't make me lose someone else."

Peter can't move. He's rooted to the spot. He can't breathe.

"Please, you're all I have of Ben. I need you. We'll make it better. We will," she bobs her head, wiping at her face. She won't stop staring at his arm.

" _Sit. Down."_ Tony grabs her shoulder. His words are through clenched teeth.

Peter forces his feet to move. He hobbles slightly, grabbing at the wall to stop himself from collapsing. May makes another choked noise, but Peter forces himself to focus. He's here to pack. He's going back with Tony. He can't smell the cologne Matt favors. He can't smell the lingering sense of _wrong_ in the back of his mind. He's not about to throw up at realizing he's back here again. He's fine. He's not staying here.

"Peter, Peter, I'm sorry!" May is seated at the couch now, but twisted around to look at him. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm sorry." She sobs. "I'm so sorry. I thought that the arm...I'm sorry."

Sorry. He stares at her blankly. _Sorry._

"Would you like to know the time, Mrs. Argon?" Loki's voice interjects, and May swivels around on the couch to look towards the doorway as Thor closes the door behind them. Loki is smiling with something vicious, and Peter wonders again what Tony _said._ How much do they _know?_ "Because from what understand, you are quite late."

"You're…" May breathes, horror in her tone. And Peter sees Tony's lip curve up in the barest edge of a smirk for half a second. And it's in that moment that Peter isn't sure if Tony brought Thor for _Thor_ or Thor for Loki. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it does.

_I'm sorry._

He moves down the hall. Tony's enjoying this. Making May uncomfortable. It makes him sick. He wants to scream himself hoarse and demand to know how anyone could ever _want_ that. ( _She said sorry.)_ Peter pushes open the door to his room and stares at it.

There's no looming shadowy presence in the corner. Nothing to suggest what's been going on for all this time. ( _Nothing has been going on.)_ it looks...painfully ordinary. Normal. Numbingly so. Peter stares at everything with an ache in his chest. Staying with the Starks isn't permanent he reminds himself, just until he can work things out with M&M. Then he'll be back here. He just needs...not everything.

Sorry.

Peter moves into the room, leaving the door open behind him.

_I'm sorry._

He shuffles to his closet and digs through the top until he finds a duffle bag and starts to throw things into it. Clothing, his laptop, his phone charger, a blanket, other things he barely processes, and a few books. He doesn't see his phone and realizes that it's probably still in May and Matt's bedroom. Which...great.

Peter moves for his backpack, stuffing anything school related inside. He doesn't know if he'll be back before winter break is over. He doesn't think so.

Sorry.

May said sorry.

Peter's stiff hands move across the desk, fumbling to grab his history book, but it won't stick with his fingers. The backpack falls from his limp hands, landing at his feet with a huff of air.

Sorry.

As if that's supposed to fix it. Take back everything that happened. Half a year of aching. Of hating. Of nothing.

May said sorry.

Matt pushed him down the stairs.

Sorry.

His arm is broken.

May said sorry. _And he doesn't want to forgive her._

His spider sense blares suddenly, strong enough that Peter releases a sharp gasp of agony, lifting his left hand to his head to try and quell the pulsing pain. But it doesn't help, because he hears footsteps come to a stop at the open doorway.

Peter's spine stiffens at Matt's words. "I thought," the man says carefully, slowly, as if trying to relish every syllable, "that I told you not to come back here."

Peter forces out a breath, then another. He doesn't look back, even though he wants to. "I'm staying with Tony for a little bit, I'm just here to pack."

Matt laughs, but his voice is a sneer. "Stark. What, you're his kid now? Is that what you are? You got Stark to pity you enough that he's taken you up as his next project?"

Peter's face heats, but a part of him wonders if that _is_ what's happening. But he tries to shake it off. Reassure himself that Tony was taking part of his life for a lot longer than just with...this. But the treacherous thoughts leach at his brain.

"He's not my parent." Peter says automatically. "And I'm not his project."

Matt takes another step forward. Every hair on Peter's body stands upright. His spider sense begins to blare like a warning bell, screeching at his senses _DANGER, DANGER, DANGER—ABORT, ABORT!_

He doesn't turn around to face the man, though, trying not to visibly show how distressed he is.

Matt snorts. "It's funny that you think that. Because he's not going to save you." Peter's hands clench around the hardback history book. All four pounds of it. "So if you want to save yourself from something worse than a tumble down the stairs, _get out._ Stark's a billionaire, he can buy you new clothing or whatever. You're going to make May distressed, and she doesn't deserve that. She didn't deserve _you."_

Peter squeezes his eyes shut. It's getting harder to think.

_DANGER, DANGER, DANGER—_

"And I want you severed from our lives before the baby gets here, so—" Matt was probably going to say something else. A threat, a promise, a nasty comment, it doesn't matter. It never will. His hand lands on Peter's shoulder, grip tight and promising pain and every nerve within Peter's body alights.

_DANGER—_

His spider sense won't calm, his brain insists that they run, and Peter's heart nearly explodes inside his ribcage. Whatever words Matt was going to say never come out, because in that moment, Peter twists around, slams the textbook into Matt's face, and _screams._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: March 6th, 13th, or sometime inbetween that.
> 
> Update***As of March 11th, 2020; chapter 4 is delayed until I get the entire fic finished. It shouldn't be more than a two-ish week wait at most.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I'm late. Thanks for all your support. Without further adieu, let me relieve you of the cliffhanger. ;)
> 
> Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and consideration of suicide. PLEASE be safe!

* * *

In a different set of circumstances, it would have been comical the way that Thor and Loki's heads lift suddenly towards the hallway as one, words forgotten. They'd been trying to keep May put so Tony could go assist Peter in packing, but she kept throwing a fit and weeping and there wasn't any good time to hop off.

But it doesn't matter. Because the heads turn towards the hall and Thor is on his feet immediately, umbrella gripped in both hands.

If there is one thing that almost twelve years of living with beings with enhanced senses has taught him, it's not to ignore their uneasiness. Tony is up, thoughts of keeping May and Peter apart far from his mind as he twists around and moves for the hall rapidly.

His stomach clenches.

_Peter._

And it's as he steps into the small hall that Peter releases a loud, piercing scream. It's not something of pain, but terror, and Tony is bursting through the open doorway to the room before he can even remember moving. He takes in the scene rapidly, eyes flitting over everything and nothing as he tries to process the data as swiftly as possible.

There is no HUD to help him, but Tony has always been observant.

Peter is _on_ the wall, scrambled up backwards with one hand and sliding feet, but well on his way to clinging from the ceiling. Tony's heart thuds awkwardly in his chest in panic, never used to trusting Peter's ability to stick, and he brushes it to the side. Because there, on the floor beside an abandoned High School history textbook, is Matt Argon, getting to his feet with a hand pushed against his bleeding nose.

Tony's met him a few times before, but he feels as though he's seeing Matt for the first time. Seeing what he _is._ He can see the hard edges and rough knuckles, can see the towering figure that reminds him sickeningly of Howard, and for a moment, Tony is rooted there. He is an adult. It has been decades since Howard kicked the bucket, but the terror on Peter's face…

The anger in Matt's stance...

He's seen it before. He's felt it before. _He's been here before._ But he's not fifteen anymore and staring down Howard for his failures. He can do something this time. He doesn't have to be helpless.

" _Get away from him,"_ Tony snarls, storming across the room in even strides before he grabs Matt's shoulder and yanks him backwards, away from Peter still watching with wide eyes. Matt looks startled, scrambling to keep his balance as if he hadn't heard Tony come in. The blood splattered across his face does nothing for his appearance.

Matt takes in Tony for a moment, but doesn't seem nearly as surprised as he should be. As if he _knew_ that Peter had connections with the Avengers. But that's weird, because Tony can't ever remember Peter mentioning that.

"What are you doing!?" Matt exclaims.

"What do you think you are?" Tony counters, pushing Matt back towards the wall. To his amusement, Matt goes without much prodding, obviously frightened. "Haven't you done enough? Was his arm not enough for you?"

_It never is. It never is because they always want more. Howard and Matt. Never satisfied._

" _I'm sorry?"_ Matt chokes, looking bewildered. "I was trying to apologize!"

The idea is so absurd that it takes Tony a moment to process that Matt _actually_ said it. "Liar." Tony spits.

"He overreacted! He's emotional. I've been his parent for six months, trust me, I know the kid. He's—"

Tony _laughs._ It's dark and twisted, nothing laced with mirth. He jabs Matt in the shoulder as he says, "If you knew him at all, you wouldn't have done this. You are the most pathetic liar I have known and I swear on my life, Matt Argon, that I will _destroy_ you for what you did to my son."

Matt hesitates, and then seems to drop the facade. "You want him so much, take him. I'd be happy to be rid of the burden."

And Tony's hand left hand jerks up at that moment, the brace grinding against his shoulder as he prepares to hit the man, but fingers wrap around his bicep and stop the assault from becoming a reality. It only takes Tony a slight inhale to taste the thickening ozone to know that it's Thor.

Tony struggles in the grip.

"Tony," Thor's voice is even. Placid. Every inch the king he was raised from birth to be. "Think carefully about this."

"I did do some thinking, I'm going to break a bone!" Tony seethes as Matt squirms from his grip, breathing sharply.

"You asked me to stop you should you resort to violence." Thor reminds him, though he doesn't sound happy about it. He didn't sound happy about it when Tony explained what was going on. He didn't sound happy about it on the ride here, or as they waited with May. He didn't sound happy about it when Tony went to say good night to Morgan last night, asking Clint to take her for the evening, and had received the concerned questions from his teammates regarding Peter. Tony doubts that there's _anyone_ happy about this.

"Tony, please. You promised." Peter's voice is wavering. Tony wonders if he's off the wall, but he's not at the angle to see it.

"I didn't promise anything, kid," Tony bites. He tries not to feel guilt about it, but he _can't._ Not now.

"Please…"

Matt releases a huff of laughter, "Are you serious? What do you think they're going to do to me, Parker? Murder?"

_Oh, he has no idea the things they could do if there weren't rules in the way._

_Or a moral compass._

Tony turns slightly to see Peter, on the ground, blinking owlishly at the man. Beside him, Loki has his hands on the kid's shoulders like he was trying to steer him from the room. Away from the violence and Matt, but didn't quite succeed. How did he get him off the wall? How...it doesn't matter right now.

Peter needs to leave.

Loki glances once at Thor before he tugs on Peter's shoulders again, only succeeding in making the kid stumble. "Spider," Loki says, something Tony can't read in his tone. "Let's go outside, yes?"

"No." Peter argues, fumbling.

Matt snorts. "What? You got your big bad Avenger friends to protect you now so you're all brave again? You certainly didn't act the part of heroic when you ran away like a coward three days ago."

Thor goes rigid.

Tony doesn't exhale.

When Bruce describes the anger of the Hulk, he usually does so by saying it's like a lingering presence in the back of his mind. Like a headache, and a constant aching presence. And when the gates broke, and Hulk went through, there was nothing there but white. White and the feeling of destruction.

And Tony sees the white. He has nanotech stored inside the brace and inside his watch. If he wanted, he could easily create a gauntlet and blast the man's head in. But he doesn't. Instead, Tony yanks the umbrella from Thor's hands, the illusion snapping easily. Stormbreaker is revealed, heavy and off balance as ever.

Tony smashes the flat of it against Matt's head. It clangs loudly, a faint cracking noise ringing.

The man crumples to the floor groaning, and clutching at his head. Tony snidely hopes that he has the worst headache of his life in the coming days. Peter releases a horrified gasp, but Thor only meets Tony's eyes and questions flatly, "Is he dead?"

"No." Tony says through gritted teeth.

"Give me that, then." Thor demands, reaching for the weapon. Tony gives it to him without a second thought.

"What did you do!?" May shrieks from the hall, and all of them jump, twisting to face the doorway. She pushes into the room with a horrified expression, brushing past Peter and moving towards her husband. She kneels down next to him, hands frantically moving over the blood on his face and then to his nose and drawing in panicked breaths. "Did you kill him!?"

Tony snorts, "He'll live."

"You could have cracked his skull!"

"I hope I did." Tony sneers.

Matt moans on the floor pathetically, but is obviously still conscious. He looks up at May through hazy eye-lids.

"It was an accident!" May shouts, still crying. "Matt would never harm Peter on purpose! _It was an accident!_ He's been a good father. He's tried, even though it's been hard. He wouldn't…"

"He did." It's Peter's voice. Tony lifts his head slowly, resigned. The kid has been in denial since Tony brought up the suggestion. For him to say something...

There's something dark in his expression, but his eyes are lost. Loki still hasn't relinquished his grip, and it appears to be the only thing keeping him from crumpling. May stops, breathing hard and looks up at Peter. "He hurt me. You did, too." The kid looks up towards him, and Tony feels his stomach sink when he sees how vacant Peter's eyes have gone. "I don't want to come back here." The words are toneless.

"Don't say that!" May pleads, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. But she makes no move to go to Peter. "Peter, we love you. You have to know that!"

_A fat lot of good that did for Peter, didn't it?_

"My phone is in their room. And"—Peter looks away momentarily as he admits, softly—"the Spider-Man suit." And another piece clicks. Peter, who _loves_ Spider-Man, has clocked in a round total of five hours since the Snap happened. Five. And Tony suspects that most of that time off wasn't Peter's decision.

Tony should have hit Matt harder.

"Peter…" May sobs, "Peter…"

"Well then," Loki says, tightening his grip on Peter's shoulders and beginning to push him from the room. "I suppose we know the location of our next raid." The two disappear into the hall and Tony hears another door open.

May begins to get up as Matt shifts into a sitting position, hands going to his head. May is still weeping, and is only met with Tony taking a step in front of her. Distantly, Tony sees Thor finishing Peter's hasty packing job. May shakes her head, "Please, Mr. Stark, he's my son. You can't take him like this. We can make it work, just give us some time. Please don't do this…"

Tony doesn't feel anger with her. He doesn't feel sympathy. Instead, what washes over him in this moment is an overwhelming sense of pity. Tony says in a tone that is much calmer than he thought it would be, "I'm reporting this."

May's face drains of all color. "It was an accident." She whispers.

"No, it wasn't. And I think that somewhere deep down you know that, too, but you aren't willing to admit it because that would also mean admitting you're at fault." Tony snaps. He breathes out, and feels Thor take a step behind him. His overwhelming presence is comforting. Tony isn't alone in this. "I think that you still love him somewhere, but he needs something better than what you're giving."

May flinches. Her expression is hardening, even if she is still crying. "You can't _take_ my kid, Stark."

"You willing to bet on that?" Tony challenges. _Because I am,_ he leaves the thought unspoken.

"I'll take this to court." May says, eyes cold. "You're making this worse for him. He needs stability and you're ripping him away from everything. You won't help. I will. I've known him his whole life. I'm his mom. I know him better than you ever could."

"And yet," Tony says carefully, slowly, "when he needed help, you were the last thing on his mind. I'm grateful for what you've done for him, but until you can pull yourself together, Peter is staying with me."

"Peter is _my_ charge. If you want to take him, do it legally."

"Yeah?" Tony's lip twitches up. "I'd be happy to. Because you're going to lose."

"I won't. And when I do win, I will make sure that you can't step a hundred feet near him without getting thrown in prison." May seethes. "He's my son."

"Funny you should bring up jail," Tony says, "'cause you'll be lucky to evade it when this is all over."

May's eyes flash. She gestures towards her fallen husband. "You _assaulted_ him and you kidnapped my son. The only one going to jail here will be _you."_

Funny.

Tony huffs mirthlessly. "Right. We'll see how the judge takes your story."

Thor hefts up the bags he finished zipping for Peter, and the turns towards the door. Tony begins to move after him, but May shouts at his back, "My husband didn't do this on purpose! He's a good man!"

Tony pauses in the doorway, and looks back at her for a moment. "And yet, the only place he's going is hell. Good afternoon, Mrs. Argon."

000o000

"You hit him." Peter says as soon as Tony slips into the driver's seat of the car. Tony isn't surprised that this is the kid's first concern. Can't take a moment to think about himself, no. Tony sighs and buckles the seatbelt, twisting the key inside the ignition. The two Asgardians behind him are staring at the back of Tony's head, waiting for the answer.

"Yeah."

"You said you wouldn't hit him."

"Kid, you probably broke his nose. I'm not the only one at fault here." Tony's voice has the barest edge of anger and Peter flinches back from him, eyes blowing wide.

"I _broke_ it?" he repeats. "I didn't think I hit him...oh," Peter's face loses some color. "I think I did. I broke his nose." He states it like a fact. Like the sun is a star, or the square root of four is two. Simple. Emotionless.

Tony hesitates. "And how do you feel about that?"

"I…" Peter's expression twists, conflicted. "I don't know."

"He deserved something worse." Thor says and reaches forward to pat Peter's arm. The kid's eyes blow wide for a moment, but he doesn't yank his hand away. "He is not an honorable man."

"Violence doesn't...fix things." Peter shakes his head. "Not permanently. It just...it's a bandaid. I don't want a bandaid. He's going to be angry now. What if he does something to May?" Peter's voice drops, as if the fact that Matt may _do_ damage to his aunt just occurred to him. Tony's heart thumps awkwardly in his chest in sympathy. Peter makes a move to unbuckle the seatbelt, but Tony grabs his arm.

"Peter,"

"I can't just leave her—"

"The only thing that Matt is doing is probably going to the ER." Tony says flatly. He tightens his grip around Peter's shoulder, keeping him put. "Your aunt will be fine."

"But—"

"Peter!" Tony's patience bends sharply, " _Stop it!_ You don't have to save her! I'm not letting you go back up there. I don't even want you to speak with her again." Peter stares at him, something wide and almost _dizzy_ in his expression. Tony squeezes his eyes shut, breathing out heavily. "You know how Pep and I talked about adoption? Yeah. May called for a court case. I'm going to take it."

"You…"

"I'm _not_ letting you go back to her. To them. You're worth far more to me than letting you back into the lion's den and hoping that nothing bad happens. It _will._ People like Matt don't really change. Not without help I doubt he'd be willing to accept anyway. I'm taking this to the police." Tony lets the words fall off quickly, as if the faster he speaks the easier it will be say.

Now, however, was probably _not_ the time to bring it up.

Tony keeps forgetting that it's only been what, a little over forty hours since he found Peter in the Walmart parking lot. Things don't really seem to be playing a time that's easy to process, though.

He opens his eyes and sees Peter staring at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. His face is so pale he almost looks like a corpse. He's rigid. His mouth moves up and down as if trying to form words, but failing. Finally, he manages to get out, "You can't. Don't make May go through that. It's not...please don't…"

"Spider," Loki leans forward in his seat, and Peter's eyes snap towards the Asgardian, breathing out sharply. "This is beyond simple insults and a week-long separation for tempers to ease. You need to step down. Let Stark take care of this."

Tony feels mild surprise wash through him at the fact that Loki is _helping_ him.

Peter's shaking his head. "I can't. I can't let you take this to the police. Or to _court._ My life is already a mess enough _without_ all of this to double it! How is...what if it leaks, and then suddenly _everyone_ knows that Tony's my guardian and it won't take them long to connect Spider-Man on top of the rest of this, and then—"

"And would that be worse than returning to your aunt?" Loki cuts in before Peter can really get going. Tony bites on his lip as he sees Peter flinch, and then glances once at him and then pins his stare at the floor. The answer is obvious to everyone.

Tony sighs, resting his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Kid, look. I don't want to make this any more complicated than it has to be. But I want to help, and this is the only way I can think of with a solution that isn't just a bandaid."

"But it just seems… _wrong,"_ Peter argues weakly.

In the rearview mirror, Tony sees Loki and Thor share a look of understanding. And Tony remembers Thor's stories of Odin, and doesn't blame them. They're all a mess. God alone only knows how much. Their vigor on this makes a sickening sense.

"I know," Tony reassures. And he _does._ He remembers the same argument stuck in his throat when Mrs. Rhodes tried to get him to agree to stay with her family indefinitely. Remembers _wanting_ Rhodey to be his actual brother, but the whole idea feeling so awfully _off_ that it wouldn't stick. But Tony won't let it get in the way of this. He will _not_ let Peter deal with this on his own. Not anymore. "I know, kid. But sometimes the best things have an uncomfortable beginning. Let's...let's just get you back to the Tower."

000o000

Peter is broken from his listless scrolling through YouTube recommendations at a knock on the door. There's a brief moment where he considers pretending to be asleep, but convinces himself otherwise and rolls off of the bed, leaving the charging laptop still open. Tony gave it to him after the snap, said that he needed a piece of technology that wasn't from half a decade ago. Peter knows that this was his subtle way of trying to help Peter catch up with how much everything has changed.

It helped, but it was still an awkward transition at first.

Peter opens the door, expecting to see Pepper or Tony there to discuss the court case or the police, or something else that they've been bothering him with for the last two days since they got back from the apartment, but is surprised when he has to pull his gaze down instead of up.

Morgan smiles up at him shyly, holding a container full of pink Legos.

Peter stares at her, at a loss.

Morgan holds up the Legos further, as if trying to lift them to him. "It's getting heavy." She says matter-of-factly. Peter takes the box with one hand to ease her burden and Morgan nods to herself, stepping into the room and then looks back at him pointedly. Peter backs up from the door and closes it, moving after Morgan.

"What are you doing in here?" he questions, setting the box on the ground.

Morgan hops up onto his bed, kicking her feet for a moment and then settles, looking up at him with wide brown eyes. "Mommy and Daddy won't let me talk to you." She says and presses a finger to her lips, "So don't let 'em know I'm in here. FRIDAY promised she wouldn't tell."

Peter stares at her, trying to comprehend. "Aren't you supposed to be with Clint?"

Morgan pouts. "Nathan pulled my hair, so 'm not talking to him. Cooper thought it was funny, but it hurt. I'm mad. But I'm more mad at _you._ " Peter leans against the desk for a moment, shifting his right hand within the sling. He waits, and, sure enough, Morgan adds, "You've been here for almost _four days_ and you didn't even say hi to me. Well, you did on Christmas, but you hurt, so I don't think it counts. You don't have to say why. I know." She frowns. "Daddy says you're going to be my brother forever now. He said so last night. He's going to adopt you."

Peter feels something in his gut clench.

"What does adopt mean?"

Peter tries to get his mouth to work around the words, but everything feels caught in his throat. He clenches his fist around the edge of the desk. "It...it means that your dad...he and your mom are going to be my mom and dad, too."

"Oh." Morgan brightens, then frowns again, looking up at him with obvious confusion. Her head tilts. "I thought they already were."

His breath catches in his chest and he squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment. Her words feel like a physical blow. He doesn't know why. He doesn't even want to _begin_ to guess at why. Mostly...it just...stings, because after the Snap...they were. But Peter isn't Tony and Pepper's child. He isn't _anyone's_ child. No, that's not true. He's the son of two scientists pushing up daisies.

"Oh," Peter exhales. He opens his eyes and sees Morgan staring at him curiously.

Morgan hops off the bed and moves towards him, gently resting her hand on top of his. She stares up at him with wide eyes and brushes stray brown hair from her face. The weird thing is, from this angle, Peter could understand why they'd be mistaken for actual blood relatives. They kind of look alike. But they're not siblings.

Peter doesn't know what they are.

"Come play Legos with me." Morgan demands, something oddly soft in her voice. "I want to build a fairy castle, and you're the only one who won't make fun."

Peter glances up at the laptop again, and the open browser tab. Then his gaze shifts to the phone sitting on the ground attached to a charger. He still hasn't turned it on, even though it's been two days since they got back. He's afraid of what he'll see...and what he _won't_ if he does. He thinks that May will try to call him, and he's not brave enough to face that.

Peter turns back to Morgan and feels himself nodding. She beams and grips his hand tighter. He allows her to lead him towards the box of Legos and pull him down to the ground. She promptly opens the box and dumps out the contents, laying out a large green base piece and humming quietly to herself as she hands him Legos.

There's something weirdly soothing about the action. Morgan isn't a very loud child, so she doesn't really talk unless spoken to first. Peter doesn't mind the silence. The Legos clicking into place sucks up his attention, and it's a relief to not have to think about everything. About the police that Peter talked to two days ago, about the case that Tony's building, about the countless legal people that Pepper and Tony have spoken with and the way that the Avengers seem to ghost through this floor constantly offering advice, food, and sometimes to pull either Pepper or Tony to the side and discuss something quietly, but argumentatively. Peter would be lying if he didn't admit that he's spent most of the time in here because he doesn't want to talk with any of them.

Not after...everything.

He hasn't even unpacked yet. He hasn't done much of anything the last few days except panic, cry, and sleep. Which...isn't great, but it's the best he can manage. At least Bruce said that he only needs one to two more days with the sling before they can remove the cast. Yay for healing factors. If only Peter's wasn't such a brat.

"Peter?" Morgan questions after what must be hour three or four of the grand fairy castle escapade. Morgan insisted on building floors and a wall surrounding the main building, but he doesn't mind. He hums in question, digging out a white piece to add to the courtyard. "Does May not love you anymore?"

He fumbles with the piece, accidentally scraping his finger superficially against another. He winces, resisting the urge to put it in his mouth.

He looks up at Morgan. He doesn't know the answer to that. The honest answer. Not the one that May keeps giving him, but he doesn't know if it's sincere or out of guilt. It's something that May can't fix with a sorry.

Morgan fiddles with a one by seven, kicking her legs back and forth from her position on her stomach. "Mommy said that...that you'd be staying with us because May was being mean."

"It wasn't May," Peter mutters in half defense of her character, a defense he doesn't know how long he can keep giving. The police kept asking all these _questions..._ and Peter is starting to doubt his conviction about who she is. He thought she was _good,_ but...but everyone keeps making her the villain. Peter doesn't know if he wants her to be the villain. "It was Matt."

Morgan's frown deepens and she goes still for a moment. "Don't like him." She says softly, "His eyes are angry."

Peter stares at her, startled. He remembers thinking almost the exact same thing when he met the man in Avengers Tower so many months ago. The smile that wouldn't reach his eyes. The anger and resentment that built in them every time he looked at Peter.

His eyes are angry.

That...fits.

Peter snaps a piece into the courtyard. "Yeah," he agrees, lips turned down, "they are."

Morgan places the piece inside of the castle. "Don't worry. No one here has angry eyes."

He thinks of the rage that washed over Tony's face when he found Peter in the bedroom, thinks of the taste of ozone as Thor prepared to zap the man from existence, Loki's hands clenched tight around his shoulders, Pepper's heated look as she stole the phone from him, Bruce's flaring green...the Avengers _do_ have angry eyes, just not for him.

Peter only stares at her, longing for her innocence.

They finish the fairy palace. Morgan gushes about how well it turned out, and Peter tries to bounce off her enthusiasm, but it's hard. It's _so hard_ pretending to be happy. All he wants to do is curl into a miserable ball and not move. Just stare listlessly at the wall like he did for most of yesterday.

Morgan declares that she's going to go get them some snacks—pretzels with peanut butter to be specific, something that Peter personally finds appalling, but Morgan can't get enough of—and he watches her go.

_Does May not love you anymore?_

000o000

"It's kind of cold to be sitting out here, y'know. If Tony catches you, he'll probably boil you into a stew just to make a point."

Peter startles at the voice, whipping his head up from where it was tucked into his knees, but settles when he sees Clint approaching from the penthouse. Peter miserably returns his head forward, looking out at New York streets. It's still covered in Christmas decorations, likely trying to hold out on them until New Years is over. Which is tomorrow.

A blanket is draped over his shoulders and Peter watches as Clint takes a seat next to him, a similar fleece blanket around his own shoulders. Clint looks up at him, one leg propped up next to his chest, the other hanging over the edge of the landing pad. Behind them, the Quinjet casts a long shadow in the moonlight.

"So?" Clint presses. Peter looks at him and Clint sighs, looking like he's barely resisting a roll of his eyes before he nudges Peter lightly with his arm. "What are you doing out here in negative seven degree weather? You're lucky I noticed first. How did you even get FRIDAY to agree to this?"

Peter shrugs, tugging on the blanket when a shiver wracks through his frame.

Clint makes a face. "You have everyone in this entire building wrapped around your finger, including the freakin' _AI._ Do you realize how impressive that is?"

"Not really." Peter mumbles, refusing to look in the archer's direction. "It doesn't feel like an accomplishment. More like a curse." Clint hums. Peter sighs heavily and stares out at New York, feeling something like a scowl settle on his face. Out of all the Avengers beside Tony, Peter's probably the closest with Natasha—her living in New York definitely helps—but Clint is nice. He's kind of like a weird, eccentric uncle Peter never had, but didn't know he needed.

Clint follows Peter's gaze. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Peter rests his head on his knees. He's silent a long few minutes before mumbling, "I don't know...I don't want to think about this. Tony's serious. May's serious. I didn't want things to escalate this far. I just wanted...I didn't want to be cold anymore. And now…Clint, am I pathetic because I couldn't save myself? I didn't even try to defend myself...I just thought..."

Clint stares at him. There's something heavy in his gaze and he thinks carefully over his words before saying, "Peter, you _did_ save yourself. Admitting that something is going on is sometimes all you have to do. And...for the record, Cinderella didn't magically whisk herself to safety, either."

But she's a Disney Princess. Peter's life is not a movie. Reality is rarely so simple.

Peter stares down at the streets, wondering for a moment what it would feel like to have the wind gushing past his ears inside the Spider-Man suit. To talk to Karen. Claim a part of his life from before and rouse Spider-Man from the dead. But the responsibility of it all feels like a weight, and he doesn't know if he's ready to shoulder it.

And besides, he doesn't know if he's worthy of it.

Matt got arrested today.

And Peter was _relieved._

"Just…" Clint pauses for a moment, and then rests his hand on Peter's shoulder slowly. "Remember something, alright: Tony loves you. Pepper does, too. Whatever happens in the future, they've got your back. The rest of us do, too. It's going to be okay. Maybe not today, but someday it _will_ be."

Everyone keeps telling him that. Peter wishes they would stop. He keeps waiting for that to happen, but things only get worse. He wants them to yell that the sun will explode and that people are dying and Peter is going to have a heart attack and lay down in his grave soon. Because if he hears that stupid phrase one more time, he's going to scream.

Peter gives a thin, watery smile. "Alright. Let's go inside. I'm freezing."

Clint lightly whacks the side of his head. Peter flinches, but Clint doesn't comment on it. "You are such an idiot. What were you thinking? 'I'm recovering from hypothermia and have been strictly instructed to remain warm. Where's the best place for that? Ah! Outside!'"

Peter flushes. "I just wanted to be away from people."

Clint gets up and nods, holding out a hand to Peter. "I won't tell Tony if you don't. The things he doesn't know." Clint shakes his head, pulling Peter up to his feet. Peter wobbles, his feet strangely disconnected from the rest of him. He grimaces, realizing that this probably wasn't the wisest thing he could have chosen to do.

Clint takes him inside, and stays until Peter is warm enough to move on his own again.

It's...nice.

000o000

On January first, Peter turns on his phone. It's not supposed to be some sort of momentous occasion, he didn't plan for it to happen at the beginning of the year, but after being exhausted by all the festivities of the day before, Peter falls onto his bed and just sits there, wanting to rest, but his mind refusing to idle.

The phone takes a moment as it powers on, almost as if to spite him for letting the battery drain to zero. Peter holds the thin, cool device in his hand and feels anxiety twist in his stomach as he waits. He types in the passcode and watches as notifications slowly begin to load. Apps trying to remind him to use them, Duolingo's weeping owl, emails, notifications he saved for himself, and texts.

He has twenty-seven missed calls, twenty-four from May or Matt's phones. All of which he suspects are from May. One is spam, one from an unknown number, and the other is from MJ. His heart twists painfully in hope at the call, but there isn't a message. He checks over the texts, his stomach sinking as he realizes that Ned still hasn't answered his apologies.

There's only the small word of _delivered_ sitting beneath Peter's umpteenth apology. MJ wished him a happy Christmas and New Year, but other than that...nothing. Nothing to suggest what happened on the twenty-second. Peter feels both relieved and sickened. He didn't _want_ to have them yelling accusations at them, but it would have been nice for them to acknowledge that he's...real? Is that the right word? He doesn't know.

Ned pretending he doesn't exist— _hopeless case—_ hurts more than Peter can express. They've had rough patches in their friendship, it's only expected, but Peter really feels that he unintentionally took a heated knife and sliced any strings of their strained friendship.

It's a moldering, rotting thing now.

And it's Peter's fault.

Why couldn't he have kept his big mouth _shut?_ None of this would have happened— _none of it—_ would have if Peter hadn't fought with Ned that day. He would have gone to Ned instead of Tony, and Tony might have never found out. (A part of Peter, quiet and depressed, realizes that that's stupid, because somehow it seems like Tony was _always_ going to learn.)

Peter stares at the screen miserably before shooting MJ a _happy New Year_ gif and Ned a simple string of words. He doesn't know how to test the bounds of their friendship now. He doesn't want to make things worse. Not with Ned, but he's already making a mess of everything else.

He's stepping all over glass. In order to prevent breaking one piece, he has to snap another.

_He got Matt arrested._

And he's already decapitated enough Rudolfs.

000o000

When the sling and cast come off, Morgan pouts miserably, apparently only having just realized that drawing on casts is a common practice. Insistent that she's been betrayed by everyone, Peter lets her draw on his arm with washable Crayola markers and bears the marks of unicorns, spiders, and Christmas trees. That's what he stares at instead of the breakfast that Pepper made for the first day back to school.

He hasn't had an appetite since the stairs, and doesn't expect to spontaneously find one today.

May's called him three times since he turned on his phone, but he panicked twice and threw the phone across the room instead of answering and had to have FRIDAY hang up for him all three. He doesn't want to hear her messages. He feels _awful_ about this. May was something like a mom for him for _years_ and the moment that she's trying to reach out to him, he rejects her.

_I'm sorry._

_You hurt me._

_Does May not love you anymore?_

But he can't keep _pretending_ anymore. He loves her, he thinks he always will, but that doesn't mean he wants to speak with her. That doesn't mean that he wants to associate with her on any form, because the very thought of actually talking with her makes him so violently nauseous he's vomited twice now. It's pathetic, but not something he can even bring himself to express to Tony.

Both he and Pepper have backed up a bit since the first week, giving him more space when they can and it's a relief. Between all the questions they keep asking, or people they make him talk to, his social limits have been drained and now a tombstone resides in their place.

( _A part of Peter wonders now if he's anything more than a walking corpse. He thinks he should feel more about everything. About the fact that Tony is fighting for_ custody _of him, but he's just so tired. Too tired. He can't care. He wants to, but he_ can't.)

There's a _clunk_ on the tabletop, and Peter flinches—stupid habit that he can't stop, his body refuses to acknowledge what has changed—snapping his head up from Morgan's nine-legged spider to Tony, whose hand is resting on some sort of foil-wrapped box. Peter blinks at him blankly, and Morgan stares up at her father with wide brown eyes, stopping the obnoxious slurping she was doing with her spoon.

Tony stares at him from behind bagged eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. Hasn't slept since putting Matt in the hospital, and a dark, coiling snake inside of Peter's chest knows that it's the case. He remembers something that a doctor mentioned offhandedly to May a few years ago when Peter caught pneumonia when he was seven. " _When the child is in distress, the parent doesn't sleep."_ He remembers, even then, how the words made him feel awful. May had laughed and nodded in agreement.

_Does May love you anymore?_

"What…?" Peter says, shoving his bowl of corn flakes to the side and shaking his right hand's sleeve down to cover the drawings. He thinks in a different lifetime he might have been embarrassed to have such childish sketches on his arm, but it's a strange sort of comfort. MJ used to draw on his arms sometimes, mostly when he wasn't paying enough attention and then he'd look back and suddenly have someone's distressed expression on his forearm with pen.

"In the midst of everything, I am ashamed to admit, I forgot to give you this. Christmas present. A week late, but, y'know, it's the thought that counts." Tony says, lifting his hand from the box where Peter can see a tag written with Pepper's loopy cursive tied to an ugly bow.

Peter looks at the box and then up and Tony. "Oh. You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to. I didn't have to, but I wanted to." Tony interrupts and tips his head pointedly towards it. "You can open it now or later, I don't really care. It's not going anywhere, and it might be motivation to get through prison—I mean, school."

Peter's lips twitch on the edge of a smile. He reaches out and touches the candy-cane wrapping paper like it's fine glass. "I think I'll wait," he says softly, pulling his hand back. He's curious as to what it is, but is also apprehensive. Tony once joked about getting Peter a car, and he sincerely hopes that isn't the case.

Tony nods once, taking a sip from a cup of coffee smelling strongly of cream. Morgan slurps her cereal and Peter side-glances her, but she only smiles innocently. Tony eyes Peter's untouched bowl of corn flakes with a small frown, but doesn't comment on it. Peter almost wishes he would.

"Alright." Tony checks his watch, "We'd best get a move on, Parker, or we're going to be late."

"You're driving?" Peter questions, someone surprised and then thinks about it more and realizes that he's really not.

Tony nods, "Yeah. I might not be able to make it to pick you up, so it will probably be Happy. Or Steve. I'll let you know after two thirty."

Peter nods and stands up, swinging his backpack over his shoulder and picking up the bowl of cereal to dump down the drain. He moves for the door with Tony and Morgan only to have the man shove an apple into one of Peter's hands. "Breakfast. Try to eat something today, please. You're starting to look like a college student before and during finals week."

Peter raises an eyebrow. "Speaking from personal experience?"

Tony lightly whacks his shoulder lightly, "No mocking. Mocking is rude. Give it a few years and you'll understand."

_If he lives that long._

"I'm not sure I want to." Peter mumbles, but swings his backpack off to stuff the lunch inside and wrestle for the zipper for a moment.

"You have your phone?"

"Yes."

"Homework?"

"Yeah. Uncompleted, but yeah." Peter promises, picking up the bag. Tony snickers, looking like he wants to say something, but doesn't. Peter's grateful. The last thing he wanted to do over winter break in between all of _this_ was homework, so he...didn't. The only thing he really started was that paper he was supposed to be doing for World History and...that was about three sentences total.

Morgan tugs on Tony's hand, "Can we stop and get hamburgers?"

"Probably not today, Little Miss. Maybe later." Tony says absently, herding them both towards the elevator and then towards the garage. Peter hears the brace clicking and winces slightly, wondering if it's always been that loud. It must take maintenance, in between everything with Peter, there probably hasn't been time for Tony to take care of his arm.

"But Peter's hungry, and I want a hamburger." Morgan says, taking Peter's hand with her free one and starting to swing both his and Tony's hands back and forth as they wait for the elevator to lower to the garage.

"You just had breakfast." Tony argues.

"But—"

"Morgan." Tony says pleadingly, "How about if you make it through kindergarten today without hitting anyone, I'll buy you one this week."

Morgan is quiet for a long moment, as if contemplating this, and she swings their hands again humming thoughtfully. There's a moment and then, "Okay, but can _Peter_ have a hamburger today?"

000o000

School is…

It is.

Peter once heard that it takes three weeks post a break to adjust to the normal school schedule again, and miserably realizes that he won't be adjusted until nearly the end of January. Which feels like decades from now, not a measly twenty-one days. Peter shuffles in the school, alone, realizing that this is the first time since the Snap that MJ and Ned haven't been waiting for him outside. There's no shoelaces to trip up the stairs on today.

Peter steps inside the building and walks through the familiar halls, his feet leading him forward more than his brain. The mass of people feels suddenly stifling, and Peter grips the straps to his backpack, feeling like every eye is on him.

For a brief, panic induced moment, he considers running out of the building and flinging himself into Tony's car and begging the Avenger not to let him go. But _he_ was the one that begged to come back even though Pepper and Tony said it might not be the best idea right now, but Peter needed something _normal._ School is normal. It's miserable, but it's normal. The stresses here, from eight until three, feel like an entire different _world_ compared to what's outside.

Peter sits in his first class and stares at the clock, then the teacher writing on the whiteboard and clenches the desk. _Call me if you need anything,_ Tony commanded him before Peter clambered out of the car, Morgan waving at him cheerfully.

It's been what, ten minutes?

He can last longer. Ten minutes is nothing. Most muffin recipes take longer to finish baking.

Peter sits. Clenches the edge of the desk harder. The teacher begins to scribble furiously against the whiteboard, pulling up something with angles and graphs, but Peter is staring forward because Ned is sitting there. His head is facing forward as if somehow _knowing_ that Peter is trying to get his attention. He's sitting next to Betty Grant, who Peter didn't even know was in their math class. Everything is kind of blur since the beginning of this year.

Their teacher begins talking, but Peter is still staring towards Ned, filtering out whatever he's saying.

Ned doesn't look back at him, and Peter eventually gives up, miserably scribbling notes inside his notebook that aren't discernible or in anyway helpful. This, Peter realizes, must be what it feels like when your brother dies. It hurts. It hurts a lot more than Peter can even say. Is there a part of his blasted family that he gets to _keep?_

Peter blinks back tears furiously, refusing to give in. He's been here for thirty-six minutes. Bread takes longer to bake. The Tower is a further distance than this. _He is not going to cry._ Peter's sleeve slides up slightly and he sees the nine-legged spider winking up at him. The drawing calms him almost immediately, but it doesn't stop the nagging doubts pounding at the back of his head.

_Hopeless case._

_Goodbye, Peter._

000o000

MJ gives him a brief nod in the hall as he passes her on his way to Spanish, but makes no other move to talk to him. It makes him hesitate. Stutter. Panic, almost, because _is Peter even real?_ Can people _see_ him? Has he somehow projected himself from his skin and is wandering around as a ghost without knowing?

Peter sits down in Spanish. And leaves fifty minutes later, without remembering a thing about what _la maestra_ said. Only that he has a project he completely forgot to study for that he's supposed to finish on Wednesday.

( _I need one of you to pretend to speak Spanish so I can practice._

_Later, Peter.)_

He can't remember anything from the class before this, either. When lunch finally arrives, Peter gathers up what remains of his frayed, painful courage and grabs the tray of lunch and moves towards the table he, Ned and MJ usually sit at.

His hands are trembling.

His vision has tunneled and he can hear every beat of his heart with perfect precision. Breath seems to be the only thing that's filtering inside his brain, but he moves. Slowly, painfully, he moves towards the table. He can do this. He can fix something. He's Spider-Man. He can do this. It's not a problem. _He can do this._

Peter stands there, with the lunch, looking at them. Ned refuses to acknowledge him suddenly finding the plastic tray fascinating, but MJ relents after a moment, looking up with a sigh. "Hi, Parker."

He flinches.

Parker.

Not Peter. The apple he ate on the way here rolls in his stomach.

"Can I…?" Peter tries, tipping his head towards the open bench. MJ opens her mouth, but Ned beats her to it.

"No."

Peter feels something in him wither. Ned doesn't even _look_ at him. ( _Don't have to look a hopeless case in the face—)_ Peter opens his mouth, trying to _breathe,_ but all that escapes is a small wheeze. Nothing is...why is nothing getting better? The moment something _okay_ happens is when…

MJ shoots Ned a heated scowl. "Peter," she sighs, looking up at him with something sympathetic on her features. "Maybe not today."

That means never. Oh, gosh, Peter really _broke_ it. All the apologies in the world couldn't fix this.

"Ned, please," Peter's voice sounds strange to his own ears. His eyes burn. The tray feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. "Please, I didn't mean…"

"Then why did you say it?" Ned demands, looking up at him for the first time in two weeks. His eyes are angry. Peter isn't used to being on the receiving end of Ned's heated stares. It makes something inside of him flinch back, because, for a moment, it's not the teen Peter considers to be a brother staring at him, but Matt, Peter having done something else to rise his ire.

_His eyes are angry._

Ned's expression softens as he meets Peter's eyes, but then it hardens, as if Ned is refusing to shake of his resolve. "I don't need a pianist anymore. I don't want to talk to you, so _stop."_

"Please, you don't understand," Peter tries, and he didn't realize he was crying until he hears his voice. "Please let me explain—" Is he really doing this? Is he going to blurt out everything with Matt and May and Tony and the court order and what Tony did and the fact that Matt was _arrested?_ He's going to do this in a cafeteria? With no prior preparation?

Ned slams a fist on the table, "I don't _want_ to understand!" he sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than Peter, but the words still make him draw back. "You're so ungrateful for everything! You lose your dad, but then you get Ben, and then Matt and Tony."

"Tony's not my dad." Peter tries to mediate desperately.

_Please don't make me lose you, too._

Ned's jaw twitches. He looks like he wants to say more, but MJ puts a hand on his arm and shakes her head softly in warning. It stings that she won't talk to him. He thought that they…No. Stop it. "Please go away." Ned says, his voice more controlled. He still isn't looking at Peter. Hasn't since the first glance. "I don't want to talk to you."

_Peter broke it. Them._

_Just like he broke Rudolf._

The tray nearly tumbles from his grasp, but a hand suddenly catches the tipped front and balances it. Peter looks up, startled, and sees Flash staring at him from the other side of the plastic with an odd expression. Flash takes the tray from Peter's stiff fingers and jerks his head, indicating that Peter should follow. "C'mon, Parker," he says quietly.

He sees MJ and Ned share a brief look of surprise, but Peter pulls his gaze away from them and numbly follows after Flash. Flash sets the tray down next to an abandoned one—his own, Peter suspects—and Peter feels the eyes of everyone else on the table resting on him for a moment. He sinks beneath the stare, but Flash clears his throat pointedly and every eye leaps off of him and returns to their meals or conversations.

Peter stares at the back of Ned and MJ's head, his breath clenching in his chest.

Why can't he—

Oh.

He's hyperventilating. That's why he can't breathe.

_Call me if you—_

Flash rests a hand on Peter's shoulder, his grip softer than Peter would have expected. "Hey, Parker, are you with me?" he questions. The table is filled with people Peter doesn't know. Not personally. He knows them by association and the last thing he wants to do is fall apart in front of them. He doesn't want them to _talk._

"Parker." Flash's voice is harder.

Peter buries his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the table. He breathes out slowly. The weight of Flash's hand steadies him some, but not enough. He feels like he's spinning. Like he's going to tumble off of this platform and land face-first in the dirt. Vertigo. _He can't keep doing this. It's too much._

 _It_ hurts.

"I need to leave," Peter whispers.

"Okay." Flash's voice is _calm._ Why is he helping him? Why is he so _calm?_ People should be screaming. Peter wants to start screaming. Flash gets to his feet and pulls Peter to his by his elbow. "Do you have someone you can call?"

Peter nods numbly. _Call me if you need—_ But even with everything that is going on, Peter hasn't told Tony about Ned. Or work. He's not sure if he's allowed. He doesn't want to burden Tony, and with everything else that's going on…

It would be better if none of these problems were here at all. If _Peter_ wasn't here.

Flash guides Peter out of the cafeteria. He helps Peter pack his backpack when Peter keeps dropping books from trembling hands and offers to call Peter's contact for him. Peter shakes his head and the two of them step outside. The bitter air bites into Peter's face and he wraps his arms around his chest, breathing out sharply.

Two days he wandered in weather like this. Two days after—

"Why are you doing this?" Peter pleads of Flash. "You hate me. Why would you ever help me?"

Flash squirms beneath the statement, obviously uncomfortable. He bites on his lower lip for a moment and then shakes his head. "You'd do the same for me."

Peter stares at him. He doesn't understand.

Flash sighs and makes a slight noise before saying, "I know about you...About _other_ you." He waves his hands and then presses his forth and third finger against his palm, an action as familiar to Peter as breathing. Peter feels blood drain from his face.

Oh gosh.

_Spider-Man._

_Flash knows._

"Y'know. Um. That." Flash almost sounds embarrassed. "I put two and two together a while ago. After...yeah. You're still a nerd. And a dweeb. And the most annoying person that I've ever met, but...just. I'll be here. If you need me to be."

Peter can't get his mouth to form any words. His secret identity has been something he's pressed against his chest and refused to tell anyone. And he hasn't. He's never _told_ anyone. If they knew, they figured it out themselves. He doesn't even know how Flash went about doing this. Because he's been Spider-Man once since the Snap.

"Oh." Peter finally gets out. "I'll—I'll remember that." He says stiffly.

Flash nods and awkwardly pats him on the shoulder. "I'll, just, leave you to it, then. And Parker," Peter looks up at him. Flash's mouth is tipping down slightly, "Let me know when you're ready for me to deal with whoevers beating you up, alright?"

Peter vaguely remembers Flash making the same offer a few weeks ago. He'd laughed until he cried about it.

_Flash knows._

He nods, and Flash goes back inside the building after giving him one more look. Peter pulls his phone out and weighs calls Tony for nearly three minutes before he shakes his head sharply, too full of sharp energy. Instead, he pockets the phone, ditches the school, and books it down the sidewalk.

000o000

It must be hours later when it happens. He doesn't know. He's bad at keeping time in his head.

Peter's still moving down the sidewalk in a less-populated place of Queens, trying to clear his racing thoughts when his spider sense gives a warning trill. Peter flinches, jerking backwards slightly and a hand, reaching out for his sleeve, falls short.

It's gloved, fingerless, and the arm is wearing a thick hoodie.

Peter looks up in surprise, his eyes going wide as he sees a tall man step from the shadows, gun in hand. His brain stutters for a moment, and he freezes. He's stared down the barrel of guns before, many, _many,_ times, but this feels different. Without the suit he feels...exposed.

"Give me your money!" the man demands. His voice is hoarse, and thick with a Brooklyn drawl. He's not wearing a ski mask, but his hood shadows his eyes. "Wallet, any spare change, _now,_ idiot!"

The mugger takes the gun into both hands and suddenly a sense of calm washes over Peter. It's like taking a deep breath after being underwater for minutes at a time. This. He knows this. He can deal with this. (A part of him wonders what would happen if he just let himself get shot.)

Peter licks his dry, split lips and says, "Be careful."

The mugger's expression flickers with obvious confusion and his shaking hands raise the weapon up further. "I'll shoot you!"

Peter tilts his head slightly, realizing with a numb sort of feeling that he honestly doesn't _care._

"Money!" The man shakes the gun, finger slipping to the trigger.

Peter sighs and takes a step forward. The man jerks the weapon and pulls the trigger. It's more instinct than thought that causes Peter to twist to the side, allowing the bullet to embed into the sidewalk behind him. The man releases a slight breath, but Peter slides forward while he's distracted and grabs the barrel of the gun, twisting it. The man lets out a surprised yelp as his wrist is jerked painfully, but before he can react, Peter shoves him back, hard.

The mugger staggers backwards, managing to gain his balance with some wild hand flapping. Peter lifts the weapon up, with one hand, suddenly exhausted. This is not a web shooter. He's only fired a gun inside of the safety of the training rooms in Avengers Tower, and only underneath the weighted stare of Steve and Natasha.

The mugger stares at him with wide eyes, raising his hands. "Don't shoot!"

"Then don't make me," Peter's voice is flat. "Go. _Now."_

The mugger eyes him for a moment longer, breathing heavily before he takes off down the street, looking over his shoulder as if afraid Peter is going to fire three rounds while he's not looking. Peter waits until he takes a sharp right turn before lowering the weapon and blinks, his legs suddenly unable to keep up his weight. He slumps to the ground, the gun still in his hands. He turns it slowly between his fingers, the metal cool in his fingers, flicking on the safety by habit.

Guns.

Guns kill things.

Peter needs something to kill him. He's not a problem if he's not here. He won't ruin everyone's lives if the only thing left of him is worm food. It would be so easy...so painless…he wouldn't have to deal with this. He wouldn't have to keep pushing. He'd stop being a walking corpse who died several months ago and is just waiting for the body to catch up.

He clenches the weapon.

( _Is he really doing this? Is he really considering—!?)_

His cheeks are wet. He's crying again.

_Does May love you anymore?_

_Goodbye, Peter._

_I'm sorry._

Yeah. Well, Peter's sorry, too. He clenches the weapon in one hand, closing his eyes shut tightly. His entire body is trembling, screaming at him to _stop, to wait, to think,_ but he's so tired. He can't keep doing this. He's hung on for long enough, when does he get permission to let go?

( _Stop it! Stop this! WHAT ARE YOU DOING—!?)_

Peter flicks off the safety.

 _Please, Mr. Stark, I don't wanna go_ _—_

000o000

Happy doesn't even have time to offer a greeting before Peter shoves the gun into his hands. He yanks the car door shut after himself and refuses to look at the man while he wraps his arms around his legs, staring forward and breathing heavily.

He almost shot himself.

He held the gun in his mouth.

He—

"Peter, what…?" Happy's voice is conflicted. Peter can almost see him turning the weapon over in his hands, trying to gauge why Peter had it in the first place. Peter keeps his lips pressed together tightly, unwilling to divulge any more than he has to. There's a reason he called Happy once he talked himself down, not Tony. Tony would...Peter doesn't know. That's what frightens him. He can handle Happy's reaction, but the thought of speaking with Tony about the gun…

"Peter." Happy's voice is a little harder. "Why do you have a gun?"

Releasing the inside of his cheek, Peter answers stiffly, "Mugger."

"You're not in the suit."

"Yeah."

"And you tried to stop someone from getting mugged?"

"No."

Happy makes a noise of frustration, carefully pocketing the weapon on the inside of his coat. The safety is on. Peter heard him click it. It doesn't help the rolling nausea that curls through him knowing that the weapon is so close. Happy's fingers linger on the ignition, as if he's debating whether or not to turn off the car, but ultimately decides against it. "Did someone try to mug you?"

Peter nods numbly. He glances up and sees Happy's expression darken briefly. The man grasps control of himself after a moment and it smooths, but Peter feels a little apprehensive about it being there at all. He grinds the palms of his hands against his eyes. "Happy, I…"

"Are you hurt? Do we need to find a doctor? Here, let me see," Happy's fingers touch his shoulder and Peter winces, ducking out of the grip. Happy doesn't try again, but Peter hears him mutter a soft curse followed by _"you're skittish_ " under his breath.

"Happy," Peter tries again. The words get caught in his throat and choke him. He can't breathe. He doesn't want to say anything, but he needs to get it out. He can't bury this like he has everything else. He can't keep living in his shallow grave.

Peter is so tired.

He just wants to remember how to be _happy._

"Did you catch him? Do you have a description? Because if you didn't, I will hunt him down and I swear I will end him. If he...if he did something that—"

"I was going to shoot myself." Peter blurts out all at once.

Happy goes silent immediately. Peter waits with bated breath, waiting for Happy to explode or implode, yell and scream or shove him out of the car because he doesn't want to deal with the insanity inside Peter's head. He's crazy. He's _insane_. He put the barrel of the weapon...he could have…

The sound of the clicking safety haunts him.

"I had the gun…and I had..." Pete doesn't know if he can say this, so he doesn't, instead squeezing his eyes shut and listening to Happy breathe in the driver's seat. He clenches his fingers around his knees and startles when a hand gently rests on his shoulder. He looks up and sees Happy staring at him with an expression Peter can't read.

"I'm not happy, but thank you for telling me." Happy says, his tone controlled. Peter was expecting more yelling. "I'm going to say something, and I want you to listen carefully. Taking your life is not the answer to this. It is never the answer." Peter's eyes burn. "But these feelings that you're having? They're real. And that's not going to go away with the snap of my fingers or your fingers. But Peter, things _will_ get better."

Peter shakes his head lightly, "They just keep getting worse." He whispers.

Happy is quiet a moment, tapping the steering wheel. "I know someone who thought the same around your age. Now they're pushing fifty and have a wife, a daughter, and a son."

Peter squints at him. _"...Tony?"_ he guesses, flabbergasted. Happy gives a slight dip of his head and Peter feels his eyes go wide. He never thought...Tony felt like this? Like him? He knows that Howard was a rubbish parent, but he hadn't thought that…

Oh.

"Tony is living proof that things do get better. Don't give up right now." Something pleading slips into Happy's tone. He squeezes Peter's shoulder tightly. "We're here for you, Peter. However you need us to be. Please remember that."

Peter wipes at his face with his sleeve, but a sob escapes him when he says, "I just want to remember how to be happy. I don't want to be a problem anymore."

Happy turns on the ignition, blasting a pool of warm air towards Peter's face. "You've never _been_ a problem. Well, except before the Toomes thing, but that was more spamming. My point is, just...trust us, okay? I know and agree with what Tony's doing, even if you've been avoiding me since Christmas."

"I—I haven't…"

"I'm kidding. Gosh, kid, where is your sense of humor?"

Peter looks away. He doesn't know. It just feels like there isn't much to smile about these days. Even less to laugh over.

Happy sighs, patting Peter's shoulder twice. "We're still a while out from the Tower. You talk, I'll drive, alright? I'm assuming that this is why you texted me instead of calling Tony?" Peter swallows thickly, but gives a slight nod. "Right." Happy pulls the car out of park. "Are you hungry?"

Peter blinks slightly, surprised when he can feel the slightest tugs of hunger in his stomach. He gives a small nod.

"Food first, then. But I'm serious. Talk."

And hesitantly, Peter does. He explains about the things he didn't tell Tony. About Ned and MJ, work, about Flash knowing his identity, about not being able to be Spider-Man, about school, the Spanish project he's doomed to fail, anything.

It's...it's good. For the first time in a while, Peter doesn't feel like he's being squished by the pressure. It's still _there_ , but it helps to have someone else there to carry it with him. All of it. Not just some of the worst parts.

Happy buys him a hamburger. Peter remembers Morgan's earlier words of that day and laughs.

000o000

Tony looks up from the email he's writing when Happy slaps a gun down on the desk. Tony stares at it for a second, and then slowly raises his gaze up to his former head of security. "Um...it's not Tasha's or Clint's if you're wondering. I'd double check with Barnes if you're trying to find the owner."

"Don't need to." Happy says flatly.

"Okay," Tony agrees slowly. "And so you dropped it on my desk because…?"

"Peter had it."

Tony feels his stomach drop to the floor. His hands freeze over the keyboard. "Peter had a _gun_?" He knows that Peter knows how to use one, Natasha refused to let him continue to "play as Spider-Man" without knowing how to defend himself against them. She and Steve spent a good two weeks giving Peter a crash course on the weapons. But Peter doesn't own a gun. Where did he get a gun? _Why_ did he have a gun?

"Yeah. He doesn't want to talk to you about it, but he's talking with Pepper right now. I volunteered to break the news to you." Happy explains, leaning back from the weapon and staring at Tony's face for a long, hard moment.

Tony feels color drain from him. He rubs at his face with one hand and leans back, swearing softly under his breath. "He was going to shoot himself?"

Happy gives a grim nod.

Tony's first instinct is anger. Not at Peter, but himself. Tony should have been expecting this. Should have been monitoring for it, but it slipped his mind with everything with the custody arrangement and the lawyers and police, but _that is not an excuse_. Peter slipped so far that he thought that was the answer, and Tony didn't _see_ it. Not directly. Of course he'd noticed the mood, but he didn't think…

He didn't _want…_

Tony swears again, pressing his lips together and shaking his head back and forth. Happy watches him carefully, obviously trying to gauge what he's thinking. But Tony doesn't know what he's thinking. His thoughts are whirring, too fast for him to parse or process, but they're still there.

Too fast. Too loud. Too everything.

There's no one to pin the blame on for this. There's no _thing_ to place the blame on.

"Is he okay now?" Tony questions quietly, and realizes how stupid the question is after he says it. Just because Peter didn't go through with it, doesn't mean that the thoughts have magically gone away. That's now how it works.

"He's…" Happy hesitates. "Better, sort of. I got him to eat something. He smiled and laughed a bit."

Tony feels his eyebrows raise with surprise, and mentally kicks himself. The fact that Peter doing such mundane things like eating, smiling, and laughing are odd isn't a good sign. Why couldn't he have seen things were getting worse before it escalated to this.

_But Peter didn't actually shoot himself._

_And that doesn't make it better._

"You said he's talking to Pepper?" Tony questions, wringing his hands. He wants to grab at his hair or kick something, but it won't help. _Violence is a bandaid_ , Tony remembers Peter saying. There's more truth in that than Tony cares to admit.

"Yeah. About this. He...was worried you'd take it badly."

Tony scoffs, but isn't offended. He understands. Peter's distrust of adults, especially male isn't something he can argue with. Matt left scars, even if none were physical.

Well. At least Happy texting him to tell him that he was going to pick up Peter makes more sense now. Even if it stings a little. But Tony doesn't _know_ how he would have reacted if Peter had handed the gun to him. If Peter had...

Tony rubs at his forehead and gets to his feet. He lingers for a moment more, staring at the gun with a sick apprehension in his stomach. Peter was going to use that and...he needs to find Peter. Tony's feet are moving before he realizes he's going. Happy watches him, guarded. "Where are you going?"

"My kid was going to shoot himself. Where do you _think?"_

"Tony, maybe—" Happy tries.

Tony pauses at the elevator door and looks back at him. "Do me a favor? Melt down the gun. I don't want to see it again. I doubt that Peter does either."

Happy presses his lips together, but gives a slight nod, picking up the weapon again.

Tony pulls his eyes away and steps inside the elevator. "FRI?"

The doors close, and the voice of the AI sounds a moment later. "Already on it, Boss."

Tony finds Peter and Pepper sitting on the couch in Pepper's office a few minutes later. Pepper has a hand resting on Peter's knee, her expression impossibly sympathetic. Peter is playing with the edges of his sleeves, looking half-dead, bone-weary exhausted, and cold, but very much alive. Tony crosses the distance between them as Peter lapses to silence and wraps Peter in an embrace.

He breathes in the scent of Peter's hair. Pepper raises her gaze to him for a moment and they share a lost look.

Peter is stiff for a moment, but relaxes in the hug, wrapping his arm awkwardly around Tony's forearm. "Are you mad?" Peter questions after a long minute. Tony pulls back slightly and sits on the couch on Peter's other side, thinking carefully about the question. He releases a long sigh and gives a shake of his head.

"No Peter. Just...I'm sorry. That we didn't...that we didn't get you the help that you need before it turned to this." Tony admits. " _I_ am sorry. You shouldn't have to be. As your parents, it's our job to look out for you." He taps Peter's forehead. "All of you."

Mental and physical. He'd been so focused...Tony gives a shake of his head.

Pepper gives Peter's knee a squeeze and scoots closer. "Why don't you keep talking, and when you're finished, then we can discuss what we want to do about this, okay?"

Peter gives a slight nod, quiet for a moment before shifting and resting his head on Tony's shoulder. The kid tugs his legs up next to his chest and sighs heavily. Tony wraps an arm around his shoulders and brushes Pepper's lightly with his fingers. She gives him a tight smile, but returns her gaze back to their child.

"I guess...I guess I thought that...that with everything that was going on, that the other things didn't really matter. Like I was _only_ allowed to talk about Matt or May, but that's not...everything." Peter says. "Pepper already knows a bit. We were talking. About it. The truth is…"

Peter cries before they're finished, but when he's done, he's smiling softly. Tony didn't realize how much he missed it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look— some comfort. I am capable. Amazing, I know. =D Thanks for your support!
> 
> Next chapter: March 20th, March 27th or sometime inbetween that.


	5. 5 & +1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoot, fam! When I posted chapter 4, everything was mostly okay, but now the whole Earth freakin' shut down!? Humor aside, everyone please practice caution and stay safe and healthy. :) Thanks for all the support and feedback, it's been much appreciated.
> 
> I ended up merging the 5 and +1 cause it fit better, so I hope we're all good with that.
> 
> Warnings: Panic attacks, disassociation, mentions of thoughts of self harm.

* * *

_"Now the night is coming to an end,_

_The sun will rise, and we will try again,_

_Stay alive."_

_—_ Twenty One Pilots "Truce."

* * *

Tony takes him to a therapist that Friday. Peter missed the rest of the week of school, opting instead to remain home and quietly read and watch hours of BBC's _Merlin_ that he can barely remember. He didn't want to face Ned, or MJ or any of them again, and Pepper and Tony hadn't pushed him to.

The therapist is a woman, Maria Jackson. She's short and dark-haired, but smiles warmly at him and doesn't seem offended when he doesn't shake her hand. Apparently she used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D., which doesn't seem strange. What surprises him more is that most of the Avengers have seen her at least a few times.

They spend that session going over a long questionnaire, and Peter walks out with a diagnosis. Depression, anxiety, and post traumatic stress disorder. Maria, Tony and Pepper talk for a few minutes privately when Peter has been released into the waiting room.

"Just discussing some ways for us to help," Tony says when Peter asks about it in the car.

"The suggestion of medication, if you'd be willing to try it." Pepper adds, but she's frowning. Peter's stomach sinks, latching onto why almost immediately.

"But with Spider-Man…"

"We'd have to up the doses to fight your metabolism, and I don't know how that will affect your brain," Tony finishes the thought for him, hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel. Peter's on hands clench around his phone and earbuds, rubbing the length of cord in between his pointer finger and thumb. "We're just going to try this for now, and if it doesn't work, we'll find something else."

Peter nods tiredly, worn. He rests his head against the cold glass.

Pepper twists around to face him properly. "But this doesn't mean that you can _only_ discuss your emotional problems with her, alright? This isn't a replacement for me and Tony. If you want to talk to us, don't ever hesitate."

Peter gives a tight smile of reassurance, but he doesn't know how he feels about this. "Okay."

He feels like he's lying, though, because he's not okay with this.

000o000

May doesn't win the court case.

Peter didn't expect her to.

But it's still weird to leave the room without having spoken a word to her and realize that she no longer means home. But May hasn't meant home for a long time, and coming to accept that as truth will...it won't make everything better, but it ought to help. Maybe. She doesn't go to jail, though, that honor goes solely to Matt.

Peter put someone else in prison. Someone that wasn't a super-villain.

He…

Yeah.

Peter walks into the building Peter Benjamin Parker and leaves as Peter Benjamin Stark.

He cries anyway.

000o000

"She...she didn't…" Peter struggles to find the words, seated on the couch in Maria's office. It's his third appointment this week. The court case was Sunday, and it's Thursday now. Tony—FRIDAY, really—caught him in the kitchen yesterday morning with a knife as he debated if cutting open his skin would help relieve the pressure.

Tony had to wrestle it from him. Peter screamed like he was being murdered.

So now he sits the office like nothing happened, even though he knows that's what Maria wants to talk about.

"What did May not do?" Maria questions, leaning forward, hands resting crossed on her knees, but her gaze is focused on him.

Peter blinks, trying to remember what he was going to say. He rubs his arms. "Everything. She didn't do everything. And...and at the court case, she just stood there and cried. She looked at me, but it wasn't _looking,_ as if...Am I real, Maria?"

Maria seems surprised by the question. "What do you mean, Peter?"

"Everyone just...they don't _see_ me. This went on for five months and no one I knew...I'm not a very good liar. Did I accidentally just...stop existing and no one's told me yet? Am I real?" He looks up at her earnestly.

Maria's expression is serious, but almost smiling. "Yes, Peter, you are very real."

He thinks of Ned, MJ, and May. The listless weeks and the endless months. Peter's eyes feel wet. He always goes into this sessions with the intent to not cry, but he's slipped up a few times. "Then why doesn't anyone see me?"

000o000

"You seem happy."

Peter hesitates, his fingers wrapped around the door to the locker tightly as he braces himself to face the owner of the voice on the other side. After the first day back, Peter's done his utmost to ignore both of them, even if it's been a little rude. But Flash has proven himself to be strangely good company, even if he shoves and wrestles with Peter a little more than he's used to from everyone else, Peter has...it's weird. To have lost something to gain an ally.

Peter breathes out very slowly and then closes the door, revealing MJ's face on the other side. She's staring at him with a quizzical expression. Her lips are pursed together, hair falling around her face in a way that flatters it. She looks beautiful, and for a moment, Peter's breath catches in his chest.

Then he lets it go.

She stares at him, books clutched against her stomach. Ned is nowhere to be seen. He watches her for a moment, unsure what to say. MJ speaks first, "I mean. It's been a while. You don't...look dead today."

Peter huffs. "Thanks."

MJ's face twitches. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Do you need something, Michelle?" he questions quietly.

She flinches at the name. "I just...I want to know why. You're happy. Happier. Did you go out last night? As...you know?"

"No." Peter answers, voice clipped. He stares at her for a long moment. Betrayal tastes on the end of his tongue. It seizes at his throat and refuses to let him speak. He needed her, he needed Ned and they both...both weren't...but can he blame them? He never said anything. "No. May lost guardianship to me. That's why I'm happy."

MJ's jaw drops. She stares at him with eyes blown so wide they're in danger of simply bursting from her skull. For a brief moment, he considers sneering something nasty at her. Of accusing her. Of shouting and being angry, but anger doesn't fix it. Won't fix it. As much as he wants to let himself scream, he doesn't. Instead, he dips his head slightly and he makes to move away.

MJ grabs at his arm. "W-wait," she stutters, "Peter."

He doesn't pull away. He glances back at her, resigned. "Peter, I don't understand. How...what happened? You haven't mentioned anything...not...not since December when Ned…" her face loses color. She swears softly. "Oh. You weren't joking. What...what…?"

He breathes out slowly. The memories threaten to claw at him. The despair. Anxiety. Everything. It's a flood of water hidden behind the flimsiest door in the history of the universe. One wrong word and it will come crashing down and drown him.

"MJ," he says the nick-name carefully, resting a hand on hers. She stares at him, _into_ him. "A lot has happened since we came back. A lot that I didn't speak about, so I'm partially to blame for this, but...but MJ...I can't just matter to you when it's convenient."

They can't be friends whenever MJ or Ned decide to spare a moment for him. Peter just can't do that anymore. May was like that, and it's not _normal._ That's not how you treat someone you care about. At least, at least that's what everyone keeps telling him.

MJ flinches. "That's not—" she stops herself, biting on her lip. She squeezes his bicep, resigned. She doesn't try to deny it or shout at him for accusing her of this. It's...weird. It's almost as if she _agrees._ "I don't know...I'm not good at people. Friends. When you and Ned had your...your thing I was...scared. I thought that you...I knew that you weren't doing well, even if I...I just...I didn't know what to do. Ned reached out to me first, and I didn't mean to gang up on you, but I..." MJ begins to cry. Peter has never seen her cry before. She's always seemed so...unbreakable. "I'm awful at this, aren't I?"

But the thing that breaks her is Peter.

Peter sighs, leaning against his closed locker. The people hurry past them, intent on finding lunch. Only a scarce few pay attention to them, and the drama unfolding in the hallway.

"A little bit." Peter mutters in admittance. MJ's face twists into something ugly before she throws her arms around him and begins to sob openly. Peter doesn't know whether to push her away or hold on, putting together what he lost. This friendship almost feels like it belongs to a different person. A person who died the moment May admitted she remarried. Maybe even when he got stuck on the space-ship.

Peter hesitantly puts a hand on MJ's back. His fingers feel funny, and though her grip is tight, he doesn't know if he's drawing comfort or panic from it.

Flash suddenly appears in front of them, an eyebrow raised inquisitively. Peter looks down at the sobbing figure again and then up to Flash, giving a soft shake of his head. No, he doesn't need Flash to deal with her. It's...weird. For so long, he would have plead for help against Flash for the longest time. Having Flash conspire _with_ him…

Peter shakes his head again, and wraps both his arms around MJ to comfort her. To let her back into his life. Because he's already lost enough. He doesn't want to lose her either. Even if what they have now won't be the same as what it was before.

000o000

_I'm going to be late today. Staying after to talk with MJ. Txt you when done. -PP_

_I'll be waiting. Don't feel obligated to keep talking to her if you don't want to. -TS_

_It will be fine. -PP_

_Still though. -TS_

000o000

He and MJ sit on the stairs of the school once they've been dismissed and MJ listens quietly while Peter explains everything. The words get caught in his throat more often than not and he feels like he's admitting some sort of crime, but MJ grips his hand and doesn't let go, giving it a squeeze every time he stutters or his breathing hitches.

With everything out, Peter desperately prays this is the last time he will have to explain this to anyone.

After he's quieted, MJ looks forward for a moment, her expression dark before it crumples and she rests her head on his shoulder, gripping his hand tight enough he's worried she might break circulation. "I'm such an idiot," she says, rubbing at her face. She cried for him. Not because of him, _for_ him.

Then, she punches him on the arm. Peter yelps, hand wrapping around the offending appendage, but it's with more surprise than pain. "And you are too, you utter cabbage head!" she shouts, "I would have listened if you'd said something, God knows I should have noticed in the first place, but that doesn't—tell me, in the future, if anything like this happens or I swear on my own grave that I will make your life miserable."

Peter smiles faintly, reassured. This is normal. A bit of normal.

MJ's lower lip trembles and she shakes her head. They sit in silence for a while, looking out at the street and watching the sun trek across the sky. Eventually, MJ mumbles, "my eyes are swollen, and it's your fault, you jerk," and Peter releases a startled laugh. He missed this. He missed her snide name calling and the banter and everything that slowly slipped away as things got worse. He can't remember the last time he smiled and laughed so much.

"Sorry." He offers.

MJ punches him again, but this time it's much lighter. "Don't you ever apologize for this," she warns him, "it wasn't your fault."

Peter's expression grows strained, but he doesn't fight her.

A little after five, MJ says she should probably make her way home and Peter nods, offering to accompany her, but she shakes her head and calls her mom instead. Peter does the same with Tony.

They wait together, but MJ's mom arrives first and she waves at him as she leaves, shouldering her backpack. Peter gives her a strained smile as the car pulls away, moving outside of the school to find a bench to perch on.

He waits there for a while, with his math textbook in his hands opened to the triangles they're supposed to be working with, but his brain is far from it. When he imagined talking with MJ or Ned in December, it was always this abstract thing. Something that would be hard at first, but when it was done he'd feel better. The more time that passes between the conversation and now, the worse Peter feels. As if he's done something horribly wrong.

What if, tomorrow, when MJ comes to school, nothing has changed? She'll still shun him and be angry, and he'll have poured out his heart and it will mean nothing. What if she's...what if, what if, _what if._

"Stop it," Peter chides himself, curling his fingers around the textbook and straining his eyes to look down at the math. He'll drown in what if's if he lets himself. And he's not allowed to do that. Peter pulls out his homework from his backpack and is ruffling through the dang thing for a pencil when Tony arrives.

"Hey kid," he says, window rolled down and eyebrow raised behind sunglasses. "You look like you could use a lift."

"More like a blanket," Peter mumbles, gathering up his school stuff and quickly stuffing it inside the backpack without zipping. He scrambles into the passenger seat and pulls the door closed behind him, rubbing his hands together. "Thanks for waiting, sorry for throwing this on you."

"Don't apologize." Tony says firmly, then waits silently, obviously expectant as he signals to turn back onto the road. "So. Bad, good?"

"Both," Peter admits, lifting his hands over the heater. "I don't think she's mad at me, so that's nice."

"If that's the most positive thing you have to say about the whole thing—" Tony starts, exasperated.

"It's not," Peter quickly interrupts. "It's just the first thing that comes to mind. She took it okay, even if I filtered a lot of it." He told her a story, not a chronological report of the last two months of Peter Parker's life. Peter bites on his lip, "But I don't know if things will ever be the same again. Ned still won't talk to me."

"He'll come around." Tony promises, stopping the car for a red light.

Peter sighs, wrapping his arms around his chest. "I hope so. But at the same time I don't." Tony tilts his head a little. Peter explains after a moment, "It's...it's like, I _want_ to talk to Ned, but at the same time. He…" He looks away, reluctant to continue. Peter hasn't been able to look at a mirror properly since December, and it's almost the end of February now. And even though Ned _has_ tried to talk to him a few times in the hall since then, Peter's panicked and hid like a child.

He just doesn't know if things can ever be normal.

"Hurt you and that's not a pleasant feeling," Tony fills in. Peter looks up, startled. He forgets how fast Tony's mind is sometimes. Tony's gaze is focused on the road. "And that's fine. Pete, you are under no obligations to keep talking with him, but he _was_ your friend. That said, if you don't want to keep associating with him, you don't have to."

But that horrifies him more than anything Ned could say. Ned is his guy-in-the-chair. Peter can't imagine enduring this without him forever. "I just don't know _how_ to talk to him," Peter admits. He rubs at his face, scooting his backpack away from his feet with the edge of his shoe. "MJ is MJ, but Ned...we've been friends since we were seven. You'd think he would be easier."

"Not necessarily," Tony shrugs. "Rhodey and I have been friends since I was fifteen, and sometimes that makes it worse when we argue. Just because we know each other doesn't mean that making amends is fast."

Peter frowns. "I'm just...not ready. MJ was hard. I don't really want to talk about it with anyone else yet."

Tony nods, but his lip quirks somewhat. "For the record, kid, I _am_ proud of you for talking with her. That wasn't easy."

"I just hope it's worth it," Peter mumbles, staring towards the window and watching the world begin to blur.

000o000

When he gets home, Peter's anxiety only gets worse. His feet won't stop moving, and he feels like a bundle of energy ready to burst at any moment. He can't eat dinner and can hardly focus on anything beyond how much he regrets saying anything to MJ.

She's going to hate him.

Or judge him. Or laugh at him. Or do all three then refuse to talk to him again because she thinks he's pathetic, because Peter turned into Cinderella, and that's not very superhero-y.

Three AM finds him in the bathroom throwing up as Tony rests a hand on his shoulder and quietly reminds him to breathe. Peter doesn't cry, but the empty hollowness is almost worse than tears. He dry heaves for what feels like forever before miserably slumping against the wall.

He shouldn't have said anything. Is there a ctrl z for real life?

Peter spends the rest of that night in between Pepper and Tony, barely poking his head over the rim of the blanket. He feels like a six-year-old. Or a baby. And though his guardians eventually fall back to sleep, Peter lays there, staring up at the ceiling and memorizing the ceiling as well as he knows his own in May's apartment.

He feels dizzy.

Vertigo.

(" _Insomnia."_ Maria explains as Peter tries to describe the feeling of restlessness that refuses to let him go. The need to sleep, but the lack of it. " _It affects everyone differently. It sounds like you've had a vicious cycle of it the last few months."_

Peter had stared at her, puzzled, his anxious finger pulling coming to a stop. " _But it was my spider sense. I'm not in danger anymore, so I understand."_

Maria brushed dark hair from over her face, seeming to be trying to find something to say. " _Sometimes it takes our bodies a lot longer to learn that then our minds."_

Peter thinks about the flinching _._ " _Yeah_.")

000o000

MJ is standing outside the school when he gets there, and he almost flips a prompt one-eighty and hops back into the car where Pepper is waiting with Morgan. _C'mon, Spider-Man,_ he chides quietly, and shoulders his backpack, twisting the strap as he squeezes it and hops up the stairs to meet her. Ned is no where to be found.

"Hi." His mouth is dry.

MJ shoves a paper bag against his stomach. Peter grunts somewhat, hand lifting to take the bag by instinct. Without prompting, MJ says, "It's breakfast. For you. You didn't eat anything."

Peter's brow furrows. "How did you know that I didn't—"

She lifts an eyebrow. "Because I know you. Even if I've done a crap job at showing it recently. Did you get any sleep last night—no. Don't answer that. You didn't. I think I should be flattered that my opinion matters so much to you, but I'm more annoyed that it kept you from taking care of yourself. Eat your muffin, my mom made it. There's some grapes and a banana in there, too."

Peter blinks at her. He doesn't understand. Everything has changed. _Everything._ They live in a different decade, Peter has lost any and all family ties, Spider-Man, and so much more. How could she have still known that he would do this? "But I'm not the same person. You can't know me." Peter argues, his voice strained.

MJ frowns and then squeezes his shoulder. "You have changed," MJ agrees slowly, as if tasting the words to make sure they're coming out right. "But not that much. You're still...well, _you."_

Oh.

And it's weird, but Peter thinks that MJ couldn't have chosen better words. Because if Peter is still _Peter,_ enough of Peter that MJ can recognize him, then that means that Matt didn't destroy him. He didn't rewrite Peter and stuff something hollow and broken in his wake. Matt hurt him, but he didn't _maim_ him.

Peter isn't...dead.

He's still him.

Whatever that means.

000o000

"I'm not dead," is the first thing Peter tells Maria when he steps into her office the next appointment. His therapist stares at him for a moment as if confused, then bemused, and smiles.

"No, I think not." She agrees, gesturing that Peter should take a seat. He smiles without prompting this time and sits next to the overstuffed pillows, trying not to sink into the middle of the couch. It feels like water sometimes, like the longer he remains, the further he sinks. Maria takes her familiar place on the couch opposite him. "Any reason why you're bringing this up? Did something happen?"

"Matt did," Peter's grin doesn't slip at the mention of the name, a rare, but satisfying feat. "And he didn't kill me."

Now Maria is confused. "Peter?"

Peter explains about his conversation with MJ outside the school. "I mean, I'm not the same," Peter explains, "I don't think I ever can be again, but it's...he only, like, shaved branches. Not killed the whole tree. I'm _alive_."

Maria nods, something knowing in her gaze. "Yes, Peter, you're alive." She echoes.

000o000

Peter tells _Flash_ before he tells Ned. Well, that's not a good example because Peter told Flash before he told MJ. But the point is that this is dragging, and Peter needs to kick his butt into gear and confront the problem or bury it. He can't linger in this limbo anymore. So he swallows his fear and tries to put on a brave face.

Peter catches Ned after school on a Friday on the end of the week he told MJ, just in case this turns into another disaster, he'll have a weekend free to lick his wounds and hiss. Ned turns when Peter calls his name, and his expression immediately falls, guilt etched onto every available crease.

Ned is already moving back towards him before Peter stops moving, and the two of them meet in the middle, like some sort of bad parody of a Hallmark movie. The scenes where the two people run to each other after seeing each other for the first time in forever. That.

Peter opens his mouth to say something, his throat hot and mind buzzing, wishing frantically that he hadn't incited this and he could leave. Ned doesn't let him speak first. Instead, he wraps Peter in a hug and starts to cry.

Everyone Peter knows has been crying.

It's like he can summon it with his mere presence alone.

"Peter, I am so sorry. I was being such an idiot and all you did was say something and now we haven't spoken in two months and _I'm such an idiot_ and—"

Peter stays there for a moment, blinking with confusion and trying to process what happened. He'd prepared himself to apologize first, to explain what was going on and plead with Ned to understand that he was being stupid. He didn't...he didn't prepare himself for Ned to do, well... _this_. Peter swallows and raises his stiff hands to embrace Ned back.

Peter tries to force his muscles to relax, but they won't. Jumbled up and tense like a coiled spring. "Did MJ tell you?" he questions, his voice barely above a whisper. "About Matt and May?"

Ned draws back at that and stares at Peter's face, confusion evident. "About...no. She didn't tell me anything about that." Ned's face falls. "Oh no. What happened? I knew I should have talked to you, but I was trying to give you some space after January and gosh, I feel so _awful_ for what I said and—is May okay?"

He fidgets. Peter doesn't know. He honestly has _no idea_. He hasn't seen her since the court case. He feels like he should check up on her. That he should see how she's doing and get her anything she needs. But the idea feels him with so much dread it feels tangible.

Something must register on his face, because Ned is hugging him again. "It will be okay, Peter. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me—no, don't. I've been the worst friend in the history of friendships, and you have every right to not want to talk to me again."

"Ned," Peter sighs, making an exasperated noise in the back of his throat. "I'm not mad."

"That's what makes this worse." Ned mumbles hopelessly. "Because you should be. You're a better person than I am. Always have been."

Peter put someone in prison. He ruined May's life. The validity of those statement is up for question. His muscles are still stiff when he says quietly, "Can...can we talk? I...have a lot I want to tell you."

Ned nods, "Of course. I'll listen this time. I promise." His expression flares with guilt again, distress clear. Peter should reassure him, but he's exhausted. He just...he'll do that later, when he's finished, and doesn't feel like he's going to explode.

Peter releases a deep breath and braces himself.

000o000

"So how are things with your friends?" Maria asks, sitting down on her couch and handing Peter the requested glass of water. She settles easily, one knee over the other, heels looking heavy and uncomfortable around her feet.

Peter takes a sip, "Better." He admits. "Things aren't...I don't know if they'll ever be what they were, but they're trying now. Ned didn't take it quite as well as MJ did. What I mean by that is that he wasn't as quiet. I don't think I've ever seen him swear so much." Peter rolls his eyes, and adds fondly, "And when I was done he promised to exile himself from my life for being I quote 'the worst human ever'. You'd think this was the first time we'd ever argued."

Maria smiles gently. "So you've forgiven him?"

Peter hesitates. "Not completely. I'm trying, but it's hard. He means well, but..actions speak louder, y'know?"

"I do." Maria promises, clasping her coffee cup in both hands as she takes it from her desk. Peter's never seen her drink from it. He thinks she just likes the warmth. "And how are things with your family? Are you having any adjustment problems?"

Peter contemplates that, swishing the water. He looks down at the swirling depths. "No." He admits, and his heart aches when he says, "It's like I've always been supposed to be there, and not with my aunt."

Maria hums. "What do you think about that?"

He nearly crushes the cup, suddenly feeling inexplicably small again. "I—I don't know."

000o000

Peter brings the suggestion forward at dinner a few days later, because the open space means less chance of claustrophobia squashing him, and there will be a table between him, Pepper and Tony. It's a habit now, from May and Matt. A table serves as a meager shield.

"Can I go out in the suit tonight?" he asks, flicking food around with his fork like he's flippant about this when his gut is clenching so hard he might vomit. Pepper and Tony stop eating and look up at him, then each other.

Morgan looks confused, her quest to get as many green beans on the floor as possible without their parents noticing so she doesn't have to eat it lapsing momentarily.

The silence feels like a noose. Peter scrapes the fork against the porcelain, wincing, but the noise is better than the quiet. He hooks his ankles together beneath the table to try and quell the bouncing.

Tony clears his throat, and Peter looks up. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

That wasn't no. Relief gushes out of his lungs. "I'm not sure," he admits, "but I miss it. And I want to try."

He can see his guardians warring with themselves before Pepper gives a reluctant nod. "Alright, we'll try a few hours tonight. Does that work? You check in with us every half hour, and stop if you're getting overwhelmed."

He nods, elated. "Yeah. That sounds great."

Tony smiles, but it's tight. "Good. Get your homework done and let us know when you're going to leave. Morgan," the brunette snaps her head up from the floor to look at her father, eyes wide with innocence.

"Yeah, Daddy?"

"Is that six or seven?" Tony questions pointing his fork towards her. "How many do you got down there? I need to know how many to put on your plate."

Morgan's face falls, and she mumbles a word that Peter feels his expression go wide for. Tony pales somewhat, shooting a glance towards Pepper who doesn't look impressed.

Peter glances at the floor and counts eight. Huh. Last he checked there was only three.

000o000

Peter finishes his homework and puts on the suit for the first time since October—September?—a while ago. He pulls on the mask and breathes in deeply, a comfort he can't describe washing through him. _This._ This is home. The smell, the feeling, the reassurance. This is something Matt didn't taint. That he couldn't _steal._

"Hello, Mr. Parker," Karen says softly.

Peter nearly cries. "Hi, Karen."

Peter lets his guardians know that he's leaving and goes to the roof of Avengers Tower.

He runs to the edge of the rooftop, rolling his shoulders and bracing himself before he leaps off the edge. Adrenaline fuels his senses, lighting a fire in his stomach and pooling into his chest, his arms, his wrists. He free falls for several long seconds, a delighted whoop escaping him.

Then he twists and lifts his wrist, firing a web. It catches, and Peter is jolted, momentum swinging him forward. He fires another. _Twhip, twhip, twhip._ The noise as familiar to him as breathing, but as comforting as one of Tony's hugs.

Wind ripples past his ears, and Peter hears someone release a shout of delighted surprise. He opens his eyes and sees fingers pointing towards him phone's raise.

"Oh my gosh, it's Spider-Man!"

"I thought he was dead!"

" _Spider-Man!"_ Similar cries rouse around him, and the entire street seems to have paused to simply _stare._ And Peter can't help but smile beneath the mask, pausing between swings to wave at everyone below him.

"Hello, pedestrians!" he calls cheerfully.

Air burns against his face, the chill digging into his bones.

But all that is good in this world, it feels absolutely _wonderful._

000o000

"You didn't feel upset, facing guns after what happened?" Maria questions carefully.

Peter bites on his lip. "I did." He admits, "I froze up. If not for my spider sense, I'd, uh, probably be a morgue rather than sitting in front of you."

"I see." Maria says. "What did you do?"

Peter is quiet for a moment, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. He doesn't know whether to be proud or confused as he says, "I called Tony. We talked, and he came and got me."

Maria smiles, "That was a good decision. It's good that you're placing trusting other people again."

Peter looks up at her, conflicted. "I don't understand."

Maria leans forward, setting the coffee cup on the ground. "Let me say it like this: You're letting people take care of you, because you believe that they'll do it. You weren't doing that when you started coming to see me. I know that this may seem like a little thing, but it's not. It's a very hard thing to learn again, but you're making wonderful progress."

Progress.

Peter is making progress.

000o000

It's late March, practically April by this point, when the small bubble of safety Peter built around himself pops. And it doesn't go with a small pin poking through the side and air slowly fizzing out. No. It is, for all intents and purposes, a freaking _nuke_ blasting into the thing.

The day started out normal. Well, as normal as Peter's normal is now. Morgan couldn't find the match to her favorite pair of shoes and Peter helped her look for the better part of fifteen minutes before Pepper entered, opened a drawer Peter swears they looked at six times between the two of them and produced the missing item. Running late, Peter had skipped breakfast and Happy drove him and Morgan to school.

He made up the stairs before he tripped on his untied shoe-lace and face planted. Flash, MJ, and Ned had laughed, but helped him up to his feet and Flash had snidely said " _I'd thought you'd be more sticky than this"_ before they entered Midtown.

Peter passed his physics test.

Lunch happened.

And then dismissal.

Peter met Flash in the hall and they'd been walking towards the exit when Peter realized how crowded outside was. Brow furrowing and some dread building in his stomach, he looked at Flash, "Did something happen?"

Flash shrugged. "Not that I know of—is that the _news?"_

Peter squinted, frowning. "More than one station."

The two of them progressed hesitantly, and Flash pushed open the doors. Peter followed, hand tight around the strap of his backpack before one of the reporters turned, spotted him and then suddenly he was being swarmed by cameras flashing and microphones stuffed into his face. It's so loud. And bright. Too much.

_Too much, too much, too much—_

"Peter Parker, how does it feel to have been adopted by Tony Stark?"

"Is it true that you were a charity case he took in?"

"Are you related to him by blood?"

"How long have you been living with him?"

"Do you have insights for us on how it is to live with an Avenger?"

"Is it true—"

"Mr. Parker!"

"Mr. Parker!"

" _Peter Parker!"_

_Stop, stop, stop—_

"The son of Tony Stark—"

"I'm not his son," Peter manages to squeak out. _Stop it._ He'll say anything to make them _stop it._ His heart is pounding against his ribcage, battling for his attention and screaming at him to _run._ Peter lost Flash in the crowd, and he can't see him or anyone he knows. He's being swarmed. The people boxing him in, hands at his face, the winking lights. "I'm not his son, I'm not," he keeps repeating it, but his voice is small and lost in the midst of everyone else's.

Photos. _Hands._ Stop. He needs them to _stop._ Hands. _Hands._ Grabbing. Bruising. Clawing. Choking. Rattling him back and forth. Shoving. Never ending. Pain, pain, pain—questions. So many questions. The police, child services, everyone. Yelling at him to talk about Matt. To talk about what happened and pushing him over the edge.

Shattering Rudolf.

He can't feel himself. He can hear his breath and feel his heart thumping, but he is completely numb to his toes, his fingers, his face. He can't move. Can't walk. Can't _do this!_

Gunshots fire, snapping him into reality harshly. The reporters stop, whirling away from him to face behind them several people openly gasping and jolting backwards from the noise like it will cause them physical harm. Peter breathes out heavily, panting. He can't breathe. He's going to collapse. He can't feel his feet. Is he still gripping his backpack, what is he _doing?_

Peter sees the raised weapon amid the ground, but he can't see the source. Webshooters. He needs. Things. Webs. He needs his...that would be just his luck, wouldn't it? The adoption goes sailing through the media and not ten freaking minutes later, Peter has to reveal his identity to the public.

"Thank you for attention." Relief cascades through him hard enough that Peter wobbles. Natasha. The gun was Natasha. "Now get out of the way."

The crowd, unfortunately, chooses this moment to recover. "Ms. Romanov, did you know—"

"No comment." The voice isn't Natasha's. It's Steve's. The leeching questions and attention has slid to the approaching Avengers, and Peter watches their progression through the crowd, unable to move. The familiar head of red hair pokes through the the reporters, quickly followed by Steve's and then Bruce's.

Steve has a hand on Natasha's back, obviously leading her throat the progression, but Bruce breaks away as quickly as he can, hopping up the stairs and grabbing Peter's shoulder. Peter nearly crumples, swaying in the direction of the man. Bruce calls his name a few times, but Peter isn't able to hear it as anything more than faint mumbling.

Bruce's hand lands on his face, then his forehead, snapping his fingers in front of Peter's eyes. He can't feel anything, he only watches it happen. Peter blinks, but is too stiff to move his head. Is he breathing? Natasha and Steve swarm in front of his eyes and speak with each other rapidly before Natasha slaps a baseball cap over his head, steals Steve's jacket and swings the backpack over her own shoulder as she wraps Peter in the stolen article of clothing. She hands something to Steve and Bruce then, before wrapping her arms around Peter's shoulders and shoving him in the direction of the crowd. Then through it. Peter's legs move only because Natasha will drag him if he doesn't go.

The journey seems to take an hour, even though he's done it in seconds before. The crowd is thick and relentless. Peter wonders with a sudden desperation where Tony is. Why he sent the Avengers instead of coming himself. Does he _know? (Publicity would have been worse,_ a quiet part of Peter's mind points out, _Tony couldn't come without making it explode.)_

Natasha opens a car door and Peter is shoved inside a moment later, nearly tumbling face-first into the floor. Strong arms catch him and haul him upright. Tony. Peter's entire body seems to _melt_ suddenly, the stiffness receding as he releases a strangled cry and wraps his arms around Tony's shoulders and buries his head into his parent's chest. Tony removes the cap and holds him, gripping at his head and shushing him. Natasha takes the seat on Peter's other side as Steve takes the driver's seat and Bruce the passenger.

Happy isn't here, Peter registers faintly. That's weird.

Natasha's hand begins to rub against his back around Tony's hand. Steve starts the car. People are still talking outside. "We're alright, I'm sorry," Tony whispers, "I didn't want things to turn out like this. We're alright, just keep breathing."

Peter isn't even crying. Just shuddering like he's got a terrible case of frostbite.

"Dad," he croaks. His voice feels strange. " _Dad..."_

"I'm here," Tony promises, "I'm not going anywhere."

Peter curls into the hold, too exhausted to keep himself upright anymore. "I know," he mumbles into Tony's chest and squeezes his eyes shut.

000o000

Peter's sitting on the couch in the Avenger's communal room a few hours later, Morgan is sharing a blanket with him as she leans against his arm, flipping through a book. Tony and Pepper are working furiously between laptops and phones alike as FRIDAY whirs through data. Behind them, Bruce and Steve are pacing. Natasha is on the other side of the couch, on the phone with Clint. Happy is somewhere in here, but Peter can't remember where.

He's instead focusing on the pictures Morgan is pointing out to him and burying himself in the Stark Industries hoodie Tony let him borrow.

"As far as I can tell, someone opened their big, flapping mouth in prison and it caught the attention of the media." Tony says, releasing a long sigh and rubbing at his face. Peter clenches somewhat, looking up from his sister to the Avenger.

"Matt? This was _Matt?"_

"I don't know how, but it looks that way," Tony is far from amused. "Trying to get the last laugh, I guess."

"He won't be laughing when I'm finished with him," Natasha says smoothly.

Tony snorts darkly, "Leave something for me?"

Natasha only smiles sharply and then returns to her conversation with Clint. He's been doing his utmost to _not_ listen to what they're saying. Peter bites on his inner lip, burrowing beneath the blanket again, hiding his face inside the hoodie. Morgan rests a hand on his leg, as if trying to offer comfort.

Tony releases an agitated breath, "We weren't ready for this to happen. I was going to go public in June, not _April._ They're going to be vultures for the rest of the school year."

Pepper runs a hand through her already tussled hair. "We'll have to pull him out for the rest of the week until we can figure this out. We can't have a repeat of today. Maybe even for the rest of the year."

Peter flushes slightly, but shakes his head. "No. I don't want to stop school," _he finally has a reason to go that isn't hiding._ "I'll deal with them. It...It won't be great, but...we kind of all knew this was coming."

Tony looks apprehensive. "Pete, I've been pushing cameras away since I could walk and _I_ still find them overwhelming _._ I don't want to put you through that every day."

Peter doesn't either, but he refuses to lose this. He won't let the media control his life. Not like Matt did. If they want to be a brat about this, Peter will be, too. "I know," Peter promises, "but I don't want this to make things worse."

The bubble. That went _pop,_ but Peter refuses to let this deteriorate him.

"I can just go with Happy. They can't find me the most invigorating story forever. They'll get bored. They don't bother Morgan."

"She's five." Pepper points out, "And they know that we would destroy them if they bothered her."

Tony looks thoughtful after that, a faint smirk twitching on the edge of his lips. "Then I guess we better do the same about Peter." Pepper grimaces, but nods, picking up her phone and standing up. Peter shifts his position somewhat, thoughts snapping together.

"Wait—are you going to _sue_ them?"

Tony's expression clears so suddenly that Peter knows he's hopped onto the answer with his first try. He pales. "Tony, please, I've already put someone in jail, I don't need this to—"

"We're only going to _threaten,"_ Tony interrupts, waving a hand like this is better. "The last thing you need to deal with is this right now, Peter. I don't want you to be afraid of going outside."

"But—"

"No buts. They won't know whether or not to take us seriously and back off. I've done it dozens of times. I know how to play this game. And—Peter? You didn't put Matt in jail. He did that himself."

000o000

Whatever it is that Pepper and Tony do seems to work for the most part. After a week, Peter feels safe to leave Midtown without being tackled by the media. It isn't ideal, but it's better than nothing. Tony makes a formal post on social media explaining about Peter, crypt and to the point. Tony adopted Peter, the reason why remains a mystery. It's kind of funny the theories that people come up with, but it an aching way.

The only problem post the "reveal" is the fact that suddenly all his classmates know who he is. Peter's always hidden behind a mask of anonymity, and it's weird to lose that. Everyone wants to talk to him, or has questions, but MJ, Ned, and Flash act like sharks. Ruthless.

Peter sinks into himself and allows himself to feel the small margin of relief that he doesn't have to wave them off himself.

000o000

Almost exactly a year since this entire mess started, Peter is sitting outside a Starbucks. May is on the other side of the table. Across the street, Tony and Natasha are sitting side by side, inconspicuous to anyone who doesn't know them, but waiting to interfere if Peter gives them the signal.

Peter stirs the cream inside the coffee with a straw, watching May as intensely as she's looking at him. She looks tired, a little worn, but better than he was expecting. She's not wearing her wedding ring, though, apparently—Peter wasn't told at the time—she signed divorce papers on top of trying to fight for custody.

May rests her cup down on the table. The silence is awkward. Strained. Not at all what they used to have before.

Peter releases a long breath through his nose, steadying himself before asking, "How is your baby? Do you know the gender yet?"

May's fingers tighten. She blinks rapidly, as if trying not to cry. "Male," she says quietly. "Everything's going fine as far as the doctor's can tell. But I'm not going to keep him."

Peter blinks, aghast, "Why?"

May blinks some more, looking at his face carefully. Peter shifts in his seat, noting the way that May looks ready to clench the Styrofoam between two fingers. "I don't think I'm ready to be a mom yet. I failed you, and I don't want to do that to the baby. I have some friends who haven't been able to get pregnant. They agreed to take him. I'll still see him, but at least this way he'll get the care he deserves."

Oh.

"That's…" Peter considers his words. "Brave. To put the needs of your child above your own."

A few stray tears slip down May's face. "It's what I wish I'd done for you." She reaches for his hand and Peter lets her take it after a second. She smiles, but it's sad, then she laughs forcefully, "But here I am again, wasting our day together by moping over myself. How's school?"

"Fine."

"How did that Spanish exam go? In January?"

Peter clenches. ( _Later, Peter.)_ He draws his hand away from hers, stuffing it inside his pockets. "New topic," he suggests and refuses to be guilt tripped when he sees her expression fall. His relationship with his aunt is different now. It's always going to be different, and Peter...honestly doesn't know what he thinks about that. But there are lines he won't play on, and that's one of them. And that's _okay._ Maria said that he doesn't have to bend his comfort zone to align with someone else's.

"Are you happy, Peter?"

The question throws him. He stares at her for a moment, processing it, and curls his toes inside his shoes to stop himself from doing the anxious leg bounce. "Yeah," he says, and is surprised when he realizes it's true. He never would have thought it possible after Christmas, but here he is. Six months later. Things got better. They didn't get better right away, but they _got better._ "Yeah, I am."

May frowns. "Even after everything? With the media and Stark being your guardian?"

Peter nods slowly. He takes a sip of his bitter coffee. "He's not my guardian, May," he corrects, smiling softly when he appends, "he's my dad."

He is the child of Tony and Pepper Stark. He thinks he has been since the Snap. Peter isn't going to deny it any longer. And if he's being honest with himself, he doesn't _want_ to.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title, in case you were wondering, is the fact that M&M's are made with chocolate. Peter's not one for M&M paradise anymore. Leading out from that, I just want to take a second and reassure anyone who has conflicted feelings about their parents that it is completely valid. We do not have to idolize the people that birthed us.
> 
> Create an environment where you can heal, and where other people feel safe to heal, too.
> 
> But on top of that, trauma sucks. Just putting this point blank. Whether it be from mental illness, an event, whatever, it sucks. But, my stars, everything is temporary. This pain is temporary, the people that hurt you are temporary. You are not trapped, you're not a hopeless case, you can find healing. You'll be okay. I love you all, 100% here to support and provide a place of healing. We're all safe here.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, your support has been food for my soul. You're amazing, and don't you dare forget that. ;)
> 
> -GalaxyThreads
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/galaxythreads)

**Author's Note:**

> This story deals with some heavy topics, please take care of yourself. You are loved. <3 (100% supportive vibes sent your way. ;D)


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